The Blood of Kings
by HarlequinRavenwing
Summary: Joining the Grey Wardens offered Bronwen Cousland the chance to become something greater than she ever expected, but even she could not have known the passionate love she would find in the arms of her ex-Templar companion. Chapters mainly cover the soppy/steamy moments of Alistair/Bronwen's relationship during events in DA:O. Rated M for lamppost licking! Bioware owns DA.
1. Strange Times and Bad Dreams

STRANGE TIMES AND BAD DREAMS

Bronwen Cousland loosed the blade at her side and settled down to take her shift on watch.

According to Sten, the night in camp had been fairly quiet so far, punctuated only by the sound of Bodhan Feddic's intermittent snoring, and though grateful for the Qunari's offer to silence him _once and for all_, Bronwen had merely bade the giant warrior a good night and watched as he stalked off to his tent. At the thought, her eyes drifted naturally to the dwarf trader's cart, underneath which he and his son Sandal, were sleeping soundly. They seemed to have made themselves right at home and by the Maker…how much she envied them!

In Highever, she had been used only to the soft beds and warm fires of Castle Cousland, woken either by the dawn chorus or by one of her maids coming in to change the wash-water. Quite often the worst thing that could happen in a day was to be stuck indoors studying under the watchful eye of Aldous, the elderly family history tutor. It was like torture, especially when she would have much rather been roaming the castle grounds with her wolf Shadow, or practicing her swordplay with Ser Bryant…much to her mother's dismay.

Eleanor Cousland may have been a battle maiden herself in her youth before she married Bronwen's father, but she had certainly expected her daughter to become nothing less than a perfect noblewoman!

Saying that, what she would have said if she found out Ser Bryant had been teaching Bronwen not only how to fight, but to pick locks, set traps and track dangerous wild animals, the Maker himself only knew. Then again, perhaps she did. Perhaps that was why he was soon dismissed from the household and her father, Teryn Bryce Cousland, appointed Ser Gilmore to his former position.

Either that or he'd finally been caught sneaking out of Bronwen's room by one of the servants. In the dark of night, his lessons had been of much more intimate nature, which required considerable privacy…

Still, whatever else Bronwen had learned from the errant knight, how to stay fresh and alert after hiking through the countryside following a restless night in camp, then sleeping in a bedroll that seemed designed to be as uncomfortable as possible, had definitely had not been covered.

Nor had how to deal with the loss of those she had loved so much.

Her father, her mother, and even her own brother's wife and child, Oriana and Oren Cousland.

All gone forever…

With an agonised sigh, Bronwen tried to put aside her pain and focus only on the here and now. There was just so much that had happened since Arl Rendon Howe had taken the castle and murdered her entire family, and wallowing in grief was not about to change all that. With everything else going on around her, regretfully there was no time for such personal reflection. All over Ferelden, darkspawn were rising from their subterranean lairs, and slaughtering all who opposed them. The land itself was without a ruler since King Cailan had fallen on the battlefield and worse still, all the races of Thedas were divided and suspicious at a time when they all needed to stand together to defeat the Blight!

What was the pain suffered by one grieving daughter compared to the pain of a world gone mad? It was almost too much to bear, and made everything seem somewhat, unreal. Moreover, if not for her roguish training, Bronwen herself might not even be here now.

Although nothing could actually ever have prepared her for the events of the past few weeks...

* * *

Back when she still lived in blissful ignorance with family in Castle Cousland, she had met Duncan, a Grey Warden Commander seeking candidates to join the order. Her father and mother had been wary of her interest in the prospect, preferring to put forward Ser Gilmore instead, but Fergus had known that she was a more than capable ranger, and had secretly supported her decision.

Her brother had always known when her mind was set on something.

She could only hope and pray that he was still alive…

Anyway, if hadn't been for Duncan, then Bronwen would have been just another victim of Howe's treachery. On the night the Arl took the castle, it had been Duncan that helped her to find her parents, and to flee when they sacrificed their own lives to save hers. To this day, she would never forget the sight of her mother standing over her father's prone form, bow in hand and ready to kill all who tried to take them alive.

Whatever happened, at least she knew her parents had died with honour as true Couslands, and those thoughts kept her going that night when Duncan led her all the way to Ostagar. It was there, whilst seeking out the ancient treaties that would give the Grey Wardens the right to call upon their ancient allies, that she had first encountered and fought against the vile darkspawn that now threatened the whole of Ferelden.

Although her journey into the Korcari Wilds had been terrifying, horrifying, maybe both, she had fought well and survived long enough to undertake the joining ritual, drinking the blood of the Darkspawn she had slain and taking the taint of the foul creatures into her own body. It could so easily have meant her death there and then, but the Cousland spirit and her inner strength had gotten her through and when she awoke from nightmares that could only be described as beyond horror, Bronwen was at last a fully-fledged Grey Warden.

However, her triumph was short-lived as the battle that followed that particular event was her second lesson in tragedy in almost as many days.

The army of King Cailan was camped at Ostagar along with Duncan and the Wardens of Ferelden, as well as the men-at-arms of the people's champion, Teryn Loghain of Gwaren. This combined force was to stop the darkspawn advance; essentially halting the Blight before it even got started and thus avoiding the unnecessary deaths of hundreds if not thousands of people. The King and the Wardens were to meet the horde head on while the Teryn and his men would flank them and thus attack the darkspawn on two fronts.

It seemed like a good plan…but it was doomed to fail by the actions of one man.

The King and Duncan charged the darkspawn lines as planned but when the time came, the Teryn left the field and abandoned them to cruel slaughter. Just why Loghain chose to betray them that way was a mystery, but it also meant that now there was nothing between Ferelden and the Blight save a deluded Teryn and his misguided followers.

Of course, Bronwen had been unaware of all this since she had been tasked to light the beacon that would signal Loghain to launch his flanking manoeuvre. Joining her for this mission was another Grey Warden, recruited to the order six months before her and as handsome as any man she had ever seen.

Alistair was younger than her by a few years and had been a Templar before Duncan had found him. He had a compassionate nature that put her instantly at ease in his presence and his playful humour helped to keep up her spirits and dull the fear shefelt when they had first ventured into the Korcari Wilds to face the darkspawn.

His dusky blond hair was cropped short and stood proud from his hairline, following the elegant sweep of his noble forehead. His nose was long and straight, and the lines of his strong, stubbled chin led elegantly to his chiselled jawline, and when he smiled…well, when he smiled his perfectly sculpted lips seemed only to emphasise the beauty of the man. He was impressively muscled, and his toned physique was rather evident even under the layers of silverite armour he wore, and Bronwen had often found her mind wandering to what lay beneath that gleaming exterior.

Still from what she knew, it seemed like he too had been through so much…

Lighting the beacon in the Tower of Ishal had proved to be no easy task. Both Bronwen and Alistair had to fight their way through the darkspawn that had occupied the structure with stealth and with steel, and when they finally reached the top, a huge ogre had almost done for the pair of them.

However between Bronwen's skill with a blade, the slashing teeth of her wolf, Shadow and Alistair's unparalleled martial prowess, they had managed to despatch the ferocious creature and light the kindling beneath the beacon's pyre to alert the Teryn.

It was then that a darkspawn arrow had entered her throat and deprived her of consciousness.

On waking, Bronwen had found herself back in the Korcari Wilds under the care of a hauntingly beautiful Chasind apostate named Morrigan, whom she had previously encountered during her search for the Grey Warden treaties. Morrigan, along with her mother had saved both her and Alistair from certain death atop the Tower and had brought them back to their small hut to heal their wounds. It was only then that she had explained about Loghain's treachery.

Bronwen was aghast.

Hearing that the King's most trusted ally had left him to his fate was bad enough, but knowing that Duncan had perished due to the actions of this loathsome man made her blood boil…but no matter how bad she felt, Alistair must have been feeling ten times worse.

She had dressed quickly in a set of leather armour that Morrigan provided, made up mostly of Chasind bits and pieces that had obviously been scavenged from the dead. Then she rushed outside to find the former templar staring out across the surrounding marsh with uncharacteristic melancholy. On seeing her, he had brightened slightly and was glad to see her up and about, but the set of his shoulders and the unaccustomed pain in his face told her more than his words ever could.

Duncan had been like a father to him, and Bronwen could only listen empathically as he spoke openly of his intense grief and the hopelessness that seemed to have momentarily seized the handsome warrior. She could more than understand his pain, and it almost broke her heart to see someone else so devastated by the loss of a loved one.

Presently they were joined by Morrigan's elderly mother and Bronwen looked at her strangely. The old harridan had claimed to be Flemeth! Not any Flemeth, but THE Flemeth, the ancient maleficar said to be kept alive by a dark pact with a demon. After a prolonged conversation with the enigmatic witch, Bronwen had begun to think that she was actually telling the truth.

Still, her wise counsel had been instrumental in helping both Alistair and herself decide upon a course of action and Bronwen felt like she had turned a corner when she decided to use the treaties to unite Ferelden despite Loghain's best attempts to incite a civil war.

Oh he would have to be dealt with, of that there was no doubt…but right now their main priority had to be the Blight.

Bronwen had been surprised when Alistair readily agreed to her plan despite he himself being the senior Warden of the two, but it seemed he was content to follow her rather than take the lead and she accepted the role without question.

But it turned out that Flemeth had one last thing to give them both…

As Morrigan had emerged from the hut, Flemeth volunteered her to go with them. Bronwen had looked sceptically at the apostate, after all she had made it blatantly clear she had no love for either the Grey Wardens or for Alistair's company, and just how she was going to work with them both was anybody's guess, but Flemeth was insistent.

Morrigan seemed reluctant to accept at first, but then she acquiesced to her mother's demands and Bronwen wondered if the whole experience would actually be good for her. Getting out of the Wilds and away from the ancient maleficar certainly couldn't do her any harm, and even though she wished the constant bickering and sniping between her and Alistair would cease if only for a few moments, Bronwen was actually pleased for her company.

Following Morrigan's advice and much to Alistair's chagrin, they had set out for Lothering on the outskirts of the Wilds. On the road, they had encountered a small band of Darkspawn, and during the battle Morrigan had assumed the form of a great spider and decimated their foes. Bronwen had never seen anything like it before. It wasn't blood magic but something older, something almost of the wild itself and that made her look again at the beautiful apostate.

Morrigan was a shapeshifter!

When Bronwen had expressed her ignorance of such magic, the apostate had rolled her eyes and stalked off as if she couldn't be bothered with her. She was starting to see why she got up Alistair's nose so much…

When they finally reached Lothering, the village was filled with people trying to get away from the darkspawn horde, and an all-pervading sense of desperation hung in the air. Bronwen had decided they should purchase supplies and set out as quickly as possible lest they be stranded there, so on the practical advice of a friendly templar they had gone to the Dane's Refuge to pick up a few bits and pieces from the innkeeper.

It turned out that Loghain had stationed some of his soldiers there and as soon as they set foot inside the inn, an officious little bastard tried to arrest them for the Grey Warden's part in betraying the King!

So that's what Loghain was saying…

The ensuing brawl had ended quickly with Loghain's soldiers limping out of the door somewhat bruised and battered and with a warning to tell Loghain that there were people still alive who knew what really happened.

In their fight with the soldiers, they had been joined by Sister Leliana of the Lothering Chantry, a fiery red head who appeared to know her way around a bow and a blade. It struck Bronwen as mightily odd that a Lay Sister should know how to fight like that but she had dismissed her suspicions saying that she'd learned such skills before she entered the Chantry. It was then that Leliana told Bronwen that the Maker had told her to join their party.

Alistair had raised his brows sceptically at this and Morrigan simply scoffed at the idea, but Leliana was insistent and given her skills in the fight, Bronwen accepted her help.

Well, with only a small amount of reservation anyway…

It was shortly after that they had encountered Sten. The large Qunari had been imprisoned for murder in a cage on the outskirts of the village and every bone in Bronwen's body told her that there was no justice in leaving the mighty warrior to be torn apart when the darkspawn arrived. There had to be another way. When he had found out that Alistair and herself were Grey Wardens, Sten had offered to seek atonement by aiding them in their struggle against the Blight but all would depend on him being free.

Bronwen had then gone to the Chantry to speak with the Revered Mother and ask if she would release Sten into her custody. Alistair was much more used to dealing with religious types than she was and in truth, she felt more comfortable having him ask the awkward question. Leliana had also insisted on tagging along and when they finally arrived, Bronwen was glad of it. The Revered Mother had been initially reluctant to turn Sten over but after Leliana had spoken up in favour of the idea, the priest finally agreed and gave them the key to Sten's prison.

On their way back out of the Chantry, Alistair had encountered a familiar face. A knight in veridium mail had warmly greeted him and the two had exchanged pleasantries. It turned out he was from Redcliffe Castle, a fortress set high on a cliff overlooking Lake Calanhad. During their travels, Alistair had mentioned he was raised by the Arl there before being shipped off for templar training and he'd said that Eamon Guerrin could be counted upon as one of their allies. When he enquired after the Arl's health however, the knight looked grim. It turned out Arl Eamon was sick, poisoned no less and incapable of waking from a deep slumber.

Alistair looked devastated.

Bronwen felt his pain acutely, after all he had just lost one father figure in Duncan and the thought of losing another must have twisted him up inside. Right then and there she made her mind up to head to Redcliffe first. Although there were certainly practical reasons for making the journey, the thought of helping Alistair had also brought a warm feeling to Bronwen's heart, and the look he gave her when she said they would go there as soon as possible had stirred something deep within her that even now smouldered fiercely as she gazed absently into the flames of the campfire before her.

They burned almost as brightly as the light in his eyes…

"Hey, are you even listening to me?"

Bronwen jumped in alarm as Alistair lay a hand upon her shoulder.

"Whoa…take it easy!" He laughed as she clutched her hands to her chest to still the pounding of her heart. "I was just saying, it's time for my watch. You can turn in now if you like?"

"Alistair…I…Andraste's dimpled arse!" Bronwen flopped down onto the ground as she caught her breath. "You frightened the life out of me…wait…that's not good for somebody allegedly on watch is it?"

She flushed when she realised that an entire army could have snuck up on her and she wouldn't have noticed, but Alistair simply smiled and stirred the embers of the fire with a blackened branch.

"I forget that you're not used to this." He said softly. "You've had so much to cope with and I haven't been very supportive have I?"

Bronwen opened her mouth to protest but Alistair cut her off with a wave of his hand.

"It's alright, you don't have to deny it. I've been so wrapped up in my own problems that I never thought about what you were going through." He moved close to her and pulled her to her feet. "Look, I just wanted to say I'm sorry about…about what happened to your family, and that from now on, I'll be here whenever you need me."

Standing there with her hands clasped in Alistair's tender grip and her eyes staring directly into his, Bronwen felt something stirring deep inside. He looked so beautiful in the firelight with his golden hair, shining smile and handsome, open face that she couldn't help but react to his nearness with a shiver.

He was more dangerous to her heart than any darkspawn could ever be.

"Thank you, Alistair." She said, backing awkwardly away. "I really appreciate that."

"Yes, well…" Alistair was flushing and cleared his throat nervously. "Just thought I'd say that, you know…clear the air. We're possibly the last two Wardens alive in Ferelden after all and we need each other. Anyway, you should really get some sleep, we have a hard days travelling tomorrow."

"I don't think I can." Bronwen replied, eschewing her tent and lowering herself to a spare bedroll near the fire. "I just can't get used to sleeping on the ground. It's so damned hard. What I wouldn't give for a mattress."

She lay on her side and curled her arm underneath her head. "You know something Alistair? I miss my bed in the castle. It was so comfy…"

She was sound asleep before he even had the chance to reply.

* * *

The darkness was everywhere and it was suddenly very, very cold. Bronwen sat upright and angrily looked toward the campfire wondering if Alistair had nodded off and let the fire burn out, but there was no one there.

'Alistair?' She called softly, anxiety creeping into her consciousness as she stared into the blackness surrounding the apparently abandoned campsite. 'Alistair, are you…?'

She paused in mid-sentence as the plaintive notes of a haunting song began to drift through the night like flakes of snow. The words were indecipherable but there was something familiar about it, something…old, like a memory long forgotten that called to a part of her soul that suddenly seemed very much alive.

She frowned and tried to see through the darkness to the source of the signing, but it was as if she was blindfolded. She reached up to rub at her eyes but it made no difference at all, and warily she got to her feet wondering if it was the work of an enemy spellcaster shrouded in the blackness.

There was movement to her left.

Abruptly she span, her eyes fighting to make sense of the gleaming ebony patterns that now swirled about her as the mass of a huge creature shimmered into being. The singing had risen to an unbearable volume and Bronwen clasped her hands over her ears to try and block out its nauseating melody.

Panic seized her when as if from nowhere, a gaping maw opened before her revealing rows upon rows of sharp, blackened teeth and she began to scream as the dragon finally revealed itself in all its twisted, hideous glory…

Cold silverite pressed against her skin as she fought to free herself from the jaws of the beast and she pounded her hands against its arms as it sought to crush her to death against its chest…all to the tune of that terrible song.

Then it was stroking her hair and whispering softly to her as it rocked her gently back and forth.

As her eyes finally flicked open, Bronwen found herself looking into the concerned face of Alistair and gave in to the wracking sob that tore through her as the firelight drove away the remnants of the darkness.

"Bad dreams, huh?" Alistair murmured as she finally slid from his embrace and looked around to reassure herself that she was still here.

"I saw…I heard…" Bronwen suddenly scrambled to her feet and dashed to the outskirts of camp. As the memory of the dragon brought a fresh rush of fear to her already shaken body, she vomited up the contents of the evening's meal and cursed herself for feeling so weak, especially in front of her fellow Grey Warden.

"Yeah, my cooking is pretty awful." Alistair said softly, averting his eyes from her shame and tending to the fire before sitting down on a fallen tree trunk. "Good thing Morrigan's cooking tomorrow otherwise I think we'd all be ill."

Bronwen gingerly walked back to camp and drank deeply from her waterskin to cleanse the bitter taste from her mouth before gesturing to a spot beside him. "May I…?"

"Please!" Alistair answered quickly then smiled as she sat beside him.

They shared a moment of companionable silence as they sat staring into the flames and Bronwen found herself wishing that he would hold her once again. The feel of his strong arms around her body made her heart flutter wildly in her chest and even now, the way his armoured thigh brushed against hers was a forbidden pleasure that made her long to feel the warm, solid muscle beneath.

"I…I dreamed of a dragon." She began hoarsely, banishing such thoughts to a private place in her mind. "It's not the first time I've see it. During my joining ritual, it…called to me then too. It just…seemed so real."

"Well it is real, sort of." Alistair frowned slightly as he leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. "Part of being a Grey Warden means that you can hear the darkspawn and that's what your dream was…you hearing them."

"So it's not an ordinary dragon? It's one of the darkspawn?"

"I forget, you were never told any of this were you?" Alistair looked at her and shook his head. "The dragon is the Archdemon. It…talks to the darkspawn and they respond to its call. The thing is, we're prone to hear it just as they do and it's one of the reasons that we know this a real Blight and not just some random attack."

"And what of the strange melodies that were running through my head?" Bronwen asked, the haunting melody still echoing in her subconscious. "It was almost as if this Archdemon were…singing to me."

"In a way it is." Alistair shrugged as he tried to explain. "A lot of the older Wardens say that they've gotten used to listening to its song and can almost understand what it's saying but I never have done and to be honest, I don't really want to."

"So having the nightmares is just something I will have to get used to?"

"I'm afraid so. It begins shortly after the joining, and I suppose it's a little worse for you having joined during a Blight." Alistair sighed regretfully and squeezed her hand. "I'm sorry, all this would normally have been explained to you by now but with everything that's happened, I just never got the chance. I can promise you this much…you will learn to live with it, I mean sure it took longer for my nightmares to start but they are nowhere near as bad as they used to be and eventually most Grey Wardens manage to block them out."

He turned to face her and Bronwen was struck by the way his hazel eyes danced in the firelight, his handsome face filled with care and concern. She felt keenly aware of his nearness and looked away lest he see the deep feelings that he stirred within her, his warmth chasing away the last remnants of her terrible dream.

"Anyway…" Alistair began, clearing his throat and flushing a deep pink. "When I…ah, heard you calling my name, I thought I should tell you as it was scary for me in the beginning too."

"I called for you? I'm sorry, I didn't realise!" Bronwen felt her own cheeks burning as she thought of him rushing to her bedside. "Thank you, Alistair. Thank you for…caring."

"I said I'd be here for you didn't I?" He replied, smiling shyly as he picked at the clasps of his armour. "In any case, that's what I'm here for…to be the bearer of bad news, point out unpleasant truths and to deliver witty one-liners!"

"Oh really?" Bronwen countered, nudging him with her elbow and laughing gently. "In that case, are there any other changes I should be aware of?"

"Well, I wasn't going to say anything but there's an increased appetite for one thing!" Alistair raised his eyebrows and tried to look innocent.

"I hadn't noticed."

"Are you certain?" He teased. "See, after the way you wolfed down dinner tonight…"

"Now steady on!" Bronwen held her hands up feigning offence. "With all this trekking about, I have to keep my strength up!"

"Oh that's the reason…and here I was thinking you just really liked my burnt rabbit!" Alistair chuckled as Bronwen punched him playfully in the arm and then his face grew serious again. "There is one more thing you really should know. Being a Warden, living with the taint, well…it means that our life expectancy is not as long as other people."

"How long are we talking?" Bronwen felt her stomach lurch.

"We have roughly thirty years give or take, before the taint starts to take its toll and the Calling draws us to Orzammar."

"The Calling, what's that?" Bronwen asked, as Alistair looked at her intently. "And why Orzammar?"

"When a Grey Warden reaches a certain age, they finally start to succumb to the taint." With a heavy sigh, Alistair turned back to stare into the flames. "Rather than wait for it to claim them, it's a tradition amongst the older Wardens to head for the Deep Roads in Orzammar and end their days fighting any darkspawn they encounter down there…die fighting as it were."

Bronwen sat in stunned silence as she contemplated his words and for the second time that night, found herself amazed at how much her life had changed in the space of a few weeks.

"And you wonder why we keep all this a secret at the joining." Alistair muttered, studiously avoiding her gaze.

"Don't worry Alistair." Bronwen said softly, slowly climbing to her feet. "I understand the reasons for all the secrecy and besides, I have no regrets about any of it. After all, if I hadn't been conscripted to the Wardens, I'd have never met you."

The words were out before she'd even realised she'd said them and as Alistair's eyes met hers, she felt her heart begin to pound.

"Um, what I meant to say was…"

"Oh, I can't believe it's that time already!" Leliana exclaimed, stretching as she emerged from her tent dressed not in her Chantry robes, but in a fine set of studded leather armour. "I feel like I've hardly slept a wink…oh, you're both still up? Have I interrupted something?"

"No...No!" Alistair said quickly, jumping to his feet and blushing furiously. "We were just on our way to bed…to our tents…to sleep…separately of course!"

Leliana chuckled, hiding her smile behind a gloved hand. "Oh I see. Of course!"

"Yes, well…goodnight, ladies." Alistair coughed and then disappeared into his tent, but not before he cast a final glance in Bronwen's direction.

"I wasn't interrupting was I?" Leliana asked, a faintly amused expression on her face.

"No." Bronwen answered thoughtfully, her eyes lingering on Alistair's tent flap. "We're just friends, that's all. Just friends."

"As you say." Leliana replied pulling a lute from her pile of belongings and settling down for her watch. "I think he would like to be more though, and I think possibly you would too maybe?"

"Do you mind, Leliana? Really…."

Bronwen turned her back before the perceptive redhead could read any more of her expressions and ducked into her own tent. Settling onto her on bedroll, she thought that sleep would elude her after her earlier nightmare but Leliana's playing soon soothed her into a pleasant slumber.

And when the dreams did finally come, they were of a certain Grey Warden in shining armour…

* * *

**For those of you thinking this seems familiar, the bones of this are from my old story 'For the Grey Warden'.**

**I decided to adapt it to fill in the backstory for Bronwen Cousland, the heroine of 'Truth in the Blood' and tell the story of her experience during the events of DA: Origins, and her relationship with Alistair. I figured I'd tortured him enough in TitB, so it makes a nice change for him to take the romantic lead this time round!**

**Also, Alistair has some of the sweetest, most wonderfully written lines in the game so they are incorporated into this fic to the best of my ability, along with a few of my own.**

**Bronwen's reactions however, are entirely hers alone **

**Quin xXx**


	2. The Templar's Secret

THE TEMPLAR'S SECRET

Bronwen swore under her breath as she wiped the sweat from her brow and adjusted her pack. The last of the autumn winds seemed to be constantly stirring up dust from the rocky road that led down to Redcliffe Village and it was unusually warm for the time of year.

"This is ridiculous…" She muttered as she tugged on the shoulder straps, feeling them pinching her skin through the soft hide of her leather armour.

"Are you complaining again?" Alistair chuckled as he moved beside her. "I don't know! Show a noble lady how to dance and she'll happily while away an entire evening in a ballroom, but ask her to walk for a few hours with a lightly-filled backpack and its whinge, whinge, whinge!"

"Do I look like a noble lady to you?" Bronwen snapped, scowling as she adjusted her pack for the umpteenth time. "And excuse me, _lightly-filled_? You call this lightly-filled!"

She turned to glare at the former templar, but then she noticed the look on his face. "Wait…you're actually mocking me aren't you?"

"Me, mocking you dear lady…?" Alistair pressed his fingers to chest and rested the back of his hand across his forehead. "Perish the thought!"

"You're awful." Bronwen quipped with a pout and then found herself being turned around.

"Yes, yes, yes, I'm a bad man." Alistair sighed with mock exasperation. "Now stand still and let me take that for you."

Despite her half-hearted protests to the contrary, Alistair began to slide the pack off her shoulders, and she winced as it rubbed against the raw skin of her collarbone.

"Oh, is that sore?" Alistair asked, lowering her pack to the ground and moving to stand before her. "May I, um…have a look?"

"Okay..." Bronwen felt herself colouring almost as much as _he_ did when he nervously removed his gauntlets and gently pushed aside the shoulder of her tunic to see the raw, red skin beneath.

"Ouch, actually that does look pretty painful." Alistair murmured as he chewed his lip. "You've had the straps adjusted too loosely and it's rubbed a bit. Just hang on a sec and let me get the healing salve from my pack…"

"Oh spare me from sights such as this!" Morrigan sneered as she stopped beside Bronwen and rolled her eyes. "I swear I don't know which is worse! The way that mangy lupine follows you about like a common mongrel, or the pathetic puppy dog eyes that Alistair makes at you when he thinks you're not looking!"

Sensing an affront to his wild nature, Shadow curled a lip and growled before promptly peeing on a rock.

"Oh nice."

"Hey!" Alistair retorted, flicking open a jar of sweet smelling paste. "Shadow's a great wolf, not a common mongrel and look here, Bronwen's hurt. I was just helping her to…"

"To…to what?" Morrigan laughed mirthlessly. "Carry her pack? Heal her wounds? Remove her clothes…? You could have least have waited until you were in camp before subjecting us to such a ghastly display!"

"You know Morrigan, I wonder sometimes if your comments aren't just driven by simple jealousy!" Bronwen groaned as she realised Leliana had just decided to join the discussion. "A beautiful woman such as yourself should not feel the need to be so hostile. With a small amount of time spent on your hair and with the right clothes to emphasise your beautiful…assets, you could probably attract any man you wanted to!"

"I do not want any man, thank you very much!" Morrigan spat and Bronwen was grateful to have the apostate's angry glare directed elsewhere for a change. "And please refrain from discussing _my assets_ as if I were some kind of doll for you to dress up!"

"But you would look so beautiful in lilac!" Leliana enthused. "Oh how I should love to see you in a long and elegant gown cut low in the front…and we could try and find shoes to match! Oh, how I love shoes! Did I ever tell you…"

"Wardens, just where is this tavern we're supposed to be heading for?" Morrigan interrupted the redhead quickly, looking even more annoyed than usual if that was possible. "I should very much like to get there and into my own room before I either kill this blasted chantry girl, or she bores me to death with her idle prattle!"

"It's further down the road and then head up to the right." Alistair answered quickly. "You can't miss it."

"I'll come with you!" Leliana grinned, obviously enjoying Morrigan's discomfort. "Maybe I can ask one of the barmaids there if she knows where are the best places to shop!"

Bronwen hid a laugh behind her hand as the pretty redheaded girl threw her a conspiratorial wink and paced off down the track after the glowering apostate.

Leliana was proving to be much more than a simple sister! During one of their many conversations in camp, Bronwen had found out that she used to be a bard back in Orlais and despite her apparent piety, she had a quick mind and skilful hands that could handle a bow better than anyone she had ever met.

Suddenly a shadow fell across her and she looked up to see Sten staring at her with his usual expression of disdain.

"Am I now to follow the women?" He rumbled with a faintly disgusted look upon his broad face and Bronwen nodded, meeting the unspoken challenge within his violet eyes with a hard look of he own.

"Vashedan…"

The hulking Qunari stalked ahead muttering to himself in his strange tongue and Bronwen let out a breath she didn't realise she'd been holding.

"I get the impression he doesn't like me." Alistair murmured, watching him disappear over the ridge.

"Doesn't like _you_?" Bronwen let out a sigh. "Try being a woman _and_ a Grey Warden! He just doesn't see how the two are compatible and gets pretty irritated when I try to explain that they're not mutually exclusive. Apparently the Qunari all know their place from birth, and I think our crazy Ferelden ways are somewhat of a mystery to Sten!"

"Yes well, as long as he doesn't decide to kill us in our sleep…" Alistair frowned thoughtfully. "He did admit to murdering those people you know?"

"I know but…" Bronwen shook her head and held up her hands. "I just get the impression there's more to it. There's something he's not telling us."

"There's everything he's not telling us!" Alistair joked. "He's barely said a word since he joined us."

"Still, I can't help but wonder…oof!"

Shadow suddenly leaned against Bronwen's legs and she reached down to scratch him affectionately behind his pointed ears.

"At least I know where I stand with you, eh?" She sighed, smiling at the adoring expression on the wolf's face. "If only Sten and Morrigan were as easy to read."

"Morrigan…" The name fell from Alistair's lips like he was tasting something unpleasant. "Maker but she gets on my nerves!"

"Really? I hadn't noticed…" Bronwen flashed him a cheeky smile and laughed as Shadow added his own whine of agreement to Alistair's statement. "She is difficult, I'll give you that."

"Difficult!" Alistair exclaimed incredulously. "Well aside from that, the simple fact is that she's a complete and utter bitch, I don't like her at all!"

A supportive bark from Shadow made his feelings blatantly clear.

"She isn't the easiest person to get along with, it's true..." Bronwen began, looking at them both in turn. "But you do seem to go out of your way to antagonise her and as for you Shadow, leaving a half chewed hare carcass in her bed probably didn't help."

If she didn't know any better, she'd have sworn the wolf shrugged before looking up at her with his gleaming yellow eyes.

"Now don't look at me like that!" Bronwen laughed. "You know I can't resist you when you do that."

"Ooh, can you teach me?" Alistair joked and the wolf leapt up enthusiastically with his tongue lolling happily from his mouth.

"Honestly, I don't know which of you is worse!" Bronwen laughed as both Alistair and Shadow shared a look, then she thoughtlessly rolled her shoulders, gasping as she caught her tender collarbone.

"Oh, here…I almost forgot." Alistair stepped forward and once more pushed aside the rough garment.

At first, the soreness of the area made his touch only just bearable, but as the healing salve cooled her skin, Bronwen found her pulse beginning to race as he gently smoothed the paste over her exposed flesh.

"Does it…ah…feel any better?" Alistair asked, his own voice strangely hoarse and his cheeks dotted with pink.

"Yes, thank you." Bronwen's own voice was barely above a whisper as her eyes met his and she felt an ache creeping through her body down into the heat of her loins.

"I er…well, I…" Alistair flushed hotly and then turned away with a groan.

"Are you alright?"

"No, I mean yes…I mean my armour's just a little tight!" The former templar shifted uncomfortably for a few moments and then let out a heavily leaden sigh. "Look, there's something else I should tell you…Oh Maker, this is difficult. Do you mind if we talk for a moment?"

When he turned back to face her, his expression was grave and there was a tension in his jaw that she hadn't noticed before.

"I need to tell you something I, ah, should have told you earlier…" His voice carried such a note of seriousness that Bronwen felt her blood run cold.

"Alistair, what is it?"

"You know I told you before how Arl Eamon raised me, right? That my mother was a serving girl at the castle and he took me in?" He cleared his throat nervously before continuing. "The reason he did that was because…well, because my father was King Maric, which made Cailin my half-brother, I suppose."

It was as if a thunderstorm was suddenly raging inside Bronwen's skull. Thoughts and emotions surged through her in a tumultuous whirlwind of confusion, disbelief, anger and sympathy. She felt the blood drain from her face as she considered Alistair's words.

The man before her, this wonderful, handsome, noble man was not just the bastard son of a serving wench, but the bastard son of a King no less! In the short time they'd known each other it turned out that he'd lost not only one father figure in Duncan and could well lose another in Arl Eamon, but he'd also lost his real father in Maric and a brother in King Cailan!

Her sympathy however was mingled with the pain of knowing that he'd kept such a thing from her. Their friendship had been growing steadily since the events at Ostagar and lately it seemed as if it had the potential to become something more.

It wasn't that she was just physically attracted to him, though certainly the thought of spending a night with the powerful warrior thrusting between her thighs was quite exhilarating, but there was more to it than that. The very idea of waking every morning knowing that he would be there to share her life with, had become something that she actively dreamed about now.

The simple truth was, Bronwen Cousland cared for Alistair more deeply than she dared to admit, but to have _any_ chance of taking things further there had to be trust, and right now...well, right now she didn't know what to think.

"Alistair…you should've said something, damn it!" She stared at him accusatively. "Why didn't you tell me before?"

"You never asked?" His humorous attempt to deflect her question was countered with her angry scowl, and he sighed heavily. "All right, if you want the full explanation I'll give it to you."

He walked to the edge of the dusty road and looked out over the view of Redcliffe village below, and when he spoke again, his voice was full of regret.

"I would have told you except it never really meant anything to me. I was inconvenient, a possible threat to Cailan's rule and so they kept me secret. I've never talked about it to anyone, and everyone who knew either resented me for it or they coddled me. Even Duncan kept me out of the fighting because of it. I…I didn't want you to know, as long as possible and I'm sorry."

"I suppose I can understand that…" Bronwen found her anger dissipating under Alistair's desperate gaze. "But the rest of it…what about Arl Eamon? If he was concerned enough to take you into his household, how come you ended up in the chantry?"

"Oh, that's a _whole_ other story." A pained look crossed Alistair's face and he returned his gaze to the village below. "I was very young when my mother died, and even though Arl Eamon wasn't my father, he still took me in and put a roof over my head. He was good to me and he didn't have to be. I respect the man and I don't blame him anymore for sending me off to the Chantry once I was old enough."

"You don't blame him _anymore_?" Bronwen frowned slightly as she tried to take in everything he was saying. "But you did at the time, I take it?"

"Eamon had married a young woman from Orlais, which caused all sorts of problems between him and the king because it was so soon after the war, but he loved her."

Alistair said that with a wistful smile on his face, yet there was something beneath the expression which spoke of childhood sadness.

"Anyhow, the new Arlessa resented the rumours which pegged me as his bastard. They weren't true, but of course they existed. The Arl didn't care, but she did. So off I was packed to the nearest monastery at age ten! Just as well, really. The Arlessa had made sure the castle wasn't a home to me by that point. She despised me."

"Miserable bitch…" Bronwen coloured as she realised she'd blurted that aloud. "Can't have been all that secure, if she was threatened by a child."

"Maybe, I guess she was threatened by my presence, I can see that now but I can't say I blame her. She must have wondered if the rumours were true herself, I'll bet."

Alistair took a deep shuddering breath and then continued.

"Anyway, I remember I had an amulet with Andraste's holy symbol on it, the only thing I had of my mother's, but I was so furious at being sent away that I tore it off and threw it at the wall and it shattered. Stupid, stupid thing to do!"

"You were young, Alistair. You were young and you were hurting." Bronwen could only imagine what it must have felt like to first lose one parent and then be sent away from another. "But surely the Arl must have wanted to visit you? I mean, I can't imagine he simply stopped about you?"

"He came by the monastery a few times to see how I was, but I was stubborn. I hated it there and blamed him for everything. Eventually…he just stopped coming." Alistair shrugged his massive shoulders and sighed. "And right now, all I'm sure about is that the Arl is a good man and well-loved by the people. He's also King Cailan's uncle, so he has a personal motivation to see Loghain pay for what he did. Anyway, that's really all there is to that story."

"I see."

Bronwen found herself at a loss, there was just so much she hadn't known about Alistair. His sincere warmth and irreverent humour masked all the pain and tragedy of his early years, and it was only now that she saw beyond the playful templar to the gentle man beneath.

"I don't know what to say." It sounded pathetic even to her own ears. "What I mean to say is…I'm sorry. This must be difficult for you, Alistair."

"Hey it's not your fault, it was always a secret. Even Duncan was the only Grey Warden who knew about everything, and then after the battle when I should have told you…" He turned back to look at her with an unspoken plea in his hazel eyes. "I don't know…It seemed like it was too late by then. I mean, how do you just tell someone _that_?"

She nodded. "I suppose it's not just something that comes up in everyday conversation. Hello, how are you, nice weather we're having, and by the way my father used to be the King of Ferelden…"

"I…I should have told you anyway." As if ashamed, he turned his face from her and then added softly. "It was important for you to know, but I guess part of me liked you not knowing."

"Why?" Bronwen's brow creased in puzzlement. "Is it so bad?"

"People treat me differently when they find out." It was a simple answer, but its tone revealed the heartfelt frustration of the former templar. "I become the _bastard prince_ to them, instead of just Alistair and I know that must sound stupid to you, but I hate that it's shaped my entire life. I never wanted it, and I certainly don't want to be king! The very idea of it terrifies me…"

Beside her, Shadow whined as if to empathise with her fellow Warden and he looked at Bronwen with a reproving glint in his big yellow eyes. She almost fell forward when the shaggy beast suddenly nudged her toward Alistair with his muzzle.

That animal was way too clever for his own good…

Still, taking her cue from the astute wolf, Bronwen stepped beside him and slipped her fingers into Alistair's gauntleted hand.

"I don't think it sounds stupid, Alistair." She murmured softly. "I know exactly how you feel. As the daughter of a Teryn, people always saw me as a noble first and woman second. Anyone that came to the castle instantly assumed I'd be some shrinking violet that was only fit for courtly swooning and idle conversation. They never actually saw the real me, the me that liked to be out in woods, climbing trees and skinning my knees. It's not like I had a choice to but to be a Cousland, any more than you had a choice to be Maric's son."

"You can say that again! Right from before I was born, all my choices have been made for me." Alistair absent-mindedly began to twine his fingers through Bronwen's as he spoke. "I guess I should be thankful that Arl Eamon is far more likely to inherit the throne. He's not of royal blood, but he is Cailan's uncle and more importantly, very popular with the people. Though if he's really as sick as we've heard...no, I don't want to think about that. I really don't."

Finally, he raised his head and stared deeply into her stormy eyes.

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry for not telling you sooner." The look of sincerity on his face left no doubt that he was genuine in his apology. "I... I guess I was just hoping that you would like me for who I am. It was a dumb thing to do."

"No." Bronwen shook her head and smiled. "I understand completely."

She felt her heart beginning to pound again as each stood in silent contemplation of the other. In her mind's eye Bronwen could see herself leaning into him, wrapping her arms about his neck and drawing his perfect lips down to hers. She longed to give herself to him to ease his pain, to feel his tongue inside her mouth even as she pressed her naked body against his to take away his hurt and replace it with the passion in her heart…

"At any rate, that's what I had to tell you." Alistair said with a relieved sigh, breaking into her thoughts. "I thought you should know."

"Well…uh, yes." Bronwen felt her skin burn as she wondered if templars ever learned to read minds, and then laughed to hide her discomfort. "So, aside from practically being royalty, is there anything else I should know?"

"Besides my unholy love of fine cheeses and a minor obsession with my hair…no!" He laughed along with her and his face seemed to light up. "That's it! Just the prince thing!"

"You have an obsession with your hair?" Bronwen roughly mussed her fingers through it and then danced back out of Alistair's grasp. "You mean you actually meant to do it like that?"

"Oh very funny!" He lunged for her and grabbed her by the waist, pulling her close as she squirmed in his grip. "I'll have you know it took me hours to create this look! It's not easy looking after yourself on the road, you know!"

"So I see!"

"Hey!"

They laughed together and it felt good. All the tension seemed to flood out of them and Bronwen relaxed as Alistair, almost reluctantly released her and looked at her with a warm, caring expression on his handsome face.

"I suppose it's kind of a relief that you know about…_the prince thing_." He said, smiling happily. "I guess it means we have no more secrets between us."

He looked down the road in the direction of the tavern and then shouldered her almost forgotten back pack as well as his own.

"Come on. I suppose we should catch up with the others and I can just pretend that you still think I'm some nobody who wasn't lucky enough to die with the rest of the Grey Wardens."

"Alistair, that's not what you really think is it?" Bronwen whispered, hesitantly reaching up to cup the templar's stubbled cheek in her hand.

"No." A strange look came over his face and drew close until he was only a heartbeat away. "If I had died on that battlefield, I wouldn't be stood here now talking to you and that makes me feel very lucky indeed…"

Bronwen gasped in surprise as she felt his warm, soft lips against her cheek but the sensation was gone all too quickly as the former templar blushed furiously and then headed off down the track.

Beside her, Shadow whined softly and then cocked his head to one side.

"You think he meant to do that?" She asked the wolf expecting no answer, but somehow Shadow conveyed a positive response with a wag of his tail. "Hmm... I have something to think about then?"

Shadow snorted in agreement and then fell into step beside her as she followed her fellow Warden towards the Tavern.

* * *

Dressed in a thick cotton shirt and buckskin britches, Alistair Theirin lay on his back looking up at the night sky, listening to the chirping of the insects that frequented the shores of Lake Calanhad. There was something calming in the sound of their music and Maker knows, after the events of the past few days he needed something to be calm.

As it was, his return to Redcliffe had been far from the homecoming he expected it to be.

After confessing his little _secret_ to Bronwen, they had entered the village only to find Bann Teagan barricaded in the chantry, and the entire place under siege from an undead horde that swarmed out of Redcliffe Castle like a plague of evil, undead corpsey things!

Of course, they had stood with the villagers and defeated the horde but then the Arlessa, Lady Isolde arrived, begging Bann Teagan to go back to the castle with her, and the fact that she was obviously hiding something seemed to get right up Bronwen's nose.

Though in truth, he wasn't sure whether it was that or the obvious disdain with which the Arlessa had spoken to her. Not that Bronwen seemed to exactly warm to the woman either…

Anyway Teagan had gone with her, much to Bronwen's chagrin, and then they themselves had snuck into the castle through a disused tunnel beneath the old windmill, though Sten complained bitterly saying that he felt like a thief in the night.

What happened next pushed the limits of Bronwen's patience and temper to the extreme. In the dungeons of the castle they encountered Jowan, a bloodmage who had poisoned the Arl under the direct orders of that filthy murdering bastard Loghain! Alistair could feel the cold anger that was starting to build inside her as she questioned him, but what she discovered next made her swear and curse like a Rivaini pirate!

Turned out that he'd been hired in secret by the Lady Isolde herself to teach her son how to control his growing power.

Young Connor Guerrin was a mage…

All this had all been done without the knowledge of the Arl of course and as a result, Jowan had his opportunity to strike. He seemed repentant enough now but Alistair was pleased to see that Bronwen was in no mood for any excuses, when he confirmed Alistair's worst fears.

That Connor was responsible for the troubles besieging Redcliffe.

The boy had become possessed by a demon and was now an abomination, even possibly beyond help. There seemed to be little to do but press on and destroy the source of the evil, though it meant killing the child, but Bronwen had just shook her head and lapsed into thoughtful silence. Even Leliana couldn't coax a word out of her.

When they had reached the main hall, Teagan and several of the castle guards were held in thrall by the demon-child. They fell about like fools for the entertainment of the thing and it clapped and cheered like an innocent at a puppet show, but one look into the horrified eyes of its mother, a simple glance at the ravaged face of the Lady Isolde, and Alistair knew there was no joy in this creature.

It seemed Isolde was spared the control the demon exercised over the others. Whether it was because some part of the demon derived pleasure from seeing her suffer or because deep down inside, a part of Connor still held on to the love he had for his mother, Alistair couldn't be sure but after a short dialogue with Bronwen, the abomination fled to the upper floors leaving its thralls to attack the party.

The struggle did not last long. Without the presence of the demon, some of the soldiers came to their senses, though those that didn't had to be killed quickly. Thanks be to Merciful Andraste, Bann Teagan was one of those who regained his wits and he clasped arms with Alistair in gratitude before looking around sadly at the bloody devastation around him.

It was then he heard Bronwen yelling.

Lady Isolde was cowering on the floor as his fellow Grey Warden berated her for her lies, her deception and her downright stupidity in letting a bloodmage tutor her son. Isolde had tried to protest, saying she didn't want to lose Connor to the Circle of Magi but then Bronwen had pointed out that at least there he would be alive and it was through her thoughtless and selfish actions that her husband lay comatose and her son was more than likely to end up dead!

Alistair had pulled her back then as Isolde crumbled under her scathing attack and wept openly but Bronwen had little time for her tears. They had dealt the demon a serious blow in defeating all of it's thralls, but now they needed options.

It was then Morrigan of all people suggested that instead of slaying the demon and killing Connor in the process, they could confront with the creature in the dreamworld of the Fade, but it would require the power of more than one witchy apostate with a handful of lyrium potions…

Bronwen had seized on the idea immediately saying that she would go back to Kinloch Hold and request the aid of the Circle mages. There was bound to be enough lyrium within the Tower to send them all into the Fade if need be and while she was there, she could also ask the First Enchanter if he would honour the treaties that bound the mages to support the Grey Wardens in their struggle against the darkspawn!

It really was good to see her being positive again.

Bann Teagan had been extremely grateful and gave Bronwen a hug that made Alistair feel a little…uncomfortable. She was a beautiful woman after all with her raven hair, pale skin, eyes like polished granite and a body that curved in and out in the most wonderful way, and he'd noticed Teagan looking at her when they first met in the chantry.

But actually seeing her in another's man's arms brought something home to Alistair that he'd felt gnawing at his heart since she'd joined the order.

He was falling steadily in love with her.

It seemed ridiculous of course. Here they were in the middle of a Blight, hunted by the darkspawn, caught up in a potential civil war and facing battle after battle in their struggle to unite Ferelden, and right now all he could think about was the scent of her hair when he'd daringly kissed her cheek on the road to Redcliffe.

Oh Maker! Just remembering how soft her skin was as he'd brushed against it with his lips made his heart pound, his pulse race and the blood rush down to his…well…down there.

"Not now…" He muttered, sitting upright and after casting a furtive glance around to check no one was watching, adjusting his _growing_ _embarrassment_ so that it was more comfortable.

Fortunately, Bronwen was deep in conversation with Leliana and didn't seem to notice as he climbed to his feet with his back to the camp, trying to appear as nonchalant as possible.

"Back shortly, ladies." He called softly. "I'm just going to stretch my legs."

He was grateful that Bronwen had only brought along the bard and her ever-present wolf with them for the trip to Kinloch Hold, as Sten would have probably wanted to walk with him for some _male bonding_ time or something like that. And as for Morrigan…well, that bitch could have been any number of the woodland creatures that scurried about in the darkness while he was trying to find a quiet spot!

With a last glance toward the chatting women, he walked by the shores of the lake and let the cool air blowing across its rippled surface work its way around his body. The chill was enough to raise gooseflesh even beneath his shirt but the throbbing thickness in his nether regions stubbornly refused to abate.

Breifly he considered turning around and heading straight into his tent to personally _release the pressure_, but then what if Bronwen heard him? What if she came running in and caught him performing _that_ kind of act, what would she say?

Maker knows, the chantry had certainly frowned upon such _activity_, but then obviously the Sisters had never spent a night trying to sleep with a knot in the pit of their stomach and an overwhelming ache in their balls!

Then again, maybe, just maybe, Bronwen wouldn't be shocked at all.

Her upbringing was certainly a lot less sheltered than his own, and perhaps she would simply say nothing and peel off that figure-hugging armour before pressing her naked body against his, her darkly red lips exploring his own in a kiss that conveyed everything he hoped that she felt about him. Then she would take him in her soft smooth hands and guide him into her most intimate of places and for the first time, he would be able to express what he felt deep inside with every uncertain thrust of his hips…

Oh great.

Way to go, Alistair…those kind of thoughts _really_ helped!

Now thoroughly annoyed at himself, Alistair took a deep breath and tried to focus on the mental exercises he'd been taught as a templar in training, willing his body to become calm and still as feeling and emotion were brought under control by the power of the mind. Gradually and mercifully, the throbbing need began to finally subside and his britches once more fit comfortably around his groin.

Maker's breath, that was difficult.

With a calming, soothing sigh he turned back to the camp and made his way over to his tent. At least now he had the chance to get some sleep without being woken by the throbbing of a painfully solid erection!

At least that's what would have happened if he hadn't caught Bronwen's eye and fallen victim to one of her rare, heartfelt smiles. A smile he felt in the beat of his heart and in the stirring of his blood.

Oh Maker…

It was happening again, and he certainly couldn't go back to the lake now, it would be far too obvious. Smiling politely, he bid Bronwen and Leliana a good night and climbed through the canvas tent flap to the welcoming privacy of the darkness beyond.

Reclining on his bedroll, Alistair unlaced his britches and released himself. Closing his eyes, he grasped his swollen member in a sword calloused hand and began to rhythmically work his more than ample length. Laying there feeling the pressure starting to mount, he imagined her gentle touch, her silken hair and her beautiful face as she lay above him…

When the joy of release finally came, he sighed contentedly as he whispered her name into the stillness of the night.


	3. Reminders of Things Past

REMINDERS OF THINGS PAST

Bronwen was sleeping. The past few days had taken it out of her, and if Alistair was being honest with himself, it had taken it out of him too.

As planned, they'd travelled to Kinloch Hold to seek the assistance of the Mages in the Circle Tower but when they got there, it happened that things were a little more complicated than they expected.

The Tower had been completely overrun with bloodmages, maleficars, abominations and demons. In fact the situation had been so bad that the senior templar, Knight-Commander Greagoir had sent for the Rite of Annulment and was not prepared to even discuss anything until he heard directly from the First Enchanter that the Circle was demon-free and once again under the control of the mages.

A straight-forward enough request one might have thought, except that the First Enchanter was also trapped in the Tower, and frankly they didn't even know if he was alive or dead!

Whether it was something in his manner, or the way he scowled at her when she'd demanded that he help them as per the conditions of the Grey Warden treaties, Bronwen had lost her temper. She'd practically accused the Knight-Commander of not doing enough to look out for those in his charge, and of showing cowardice in the face of adversity, rather than helping those mages who were still alive and trapped with all the demons. He'd been taken aback at first by the way she spoke to him, but like all templars, the man was fundamentally unshakeable in his conviction. He just stood by his word and flatly refused to either help or cancel his request for the Rite.

That's when she'd volunteered Alistair, Leliana, Shadow and herself to clear the Tower, and restore order to the Circle.

He had to hand it to her, she certainly wasn't lacking in self-belief that's for sure!

Anyway, from the moment the great double doors were bolted shut behind them, the whole experience became one that he was sure everybody involved would like to forget. From fighting their way past through the hordes of bloodmages, abominations and undead that roamed the lower floors, to finally facing a particularly nasty sloth demon that lulled them all into an enchanted sleep, it had just been one sickening nightmare after another.

Probably for the first time in his life, Alistair was grateful for what little formal templar training he had. Maker knows it had certainly come in handy when they'd faced the twisted demons inhabiting their unfortunate human hosts, but there was no mistaking the dark circles and haunted looks on the faces of his companions as they had been forced to slay all those poor sods. He supposed you either had to be a templar or a mage to be able to stomach such things on a regular basis, and Leliana and Bronwen…they fought bravely, but he could still sense the fear in them both.

Actually, with hindsight he had to admit that things would probably have been much worse if it wasn't for the presence of Senior Enchanter Wynne. She was a Circle Mage that they'd first encountered defending a group of young apprentices who had been trapped along with her. How she managed to sustain the magical barriers that had held off the demons for so long was anybody's guess, but he couldn't help but admire the way she'd willingly healed all their wounds despite her own fatigue, and then offered to join them. There was definitely life in the old girl yet!

Come to think of it, _now_ he remembered where he'd seen her before! She'd been at Ostagar when Duncan and Cailan had fallen.

Huh…small world.

Finally, they'd reached the Tower and found the First Enchanter under the restraint of some baldy-headed lunatic mage by the name of Uldred. The crazy bastard had only gone and gotten himself possessed by a pride demon, and was determined to change everybody, including the First Enchanter, into abominations so they could all have a demonic party right there in the Tower's Harrowing Chamber…or something like that.

Yessss…

Bronwen wasn't about to let that happen and she told Uldred so. As expected, he didn't take it all that well and instead his physical form had grown and twisted until the Pride demon within was unleashed in all its terrible glory.

They'd had to attack then, fighting for their very lives with everything that they had. Wynne did her best to keep everyone on their feet and Leliana dashed in and out of range of the demon's claws, slashing at its hamstrings while Alistair himself had drawn most of the creature's ire as it rained down blow after blow against his shield and attempted to batter aside his sword.

Bronwen had reluctantly stood on the side-lines, reading aloud from some scroll that that prevented Uldred from creating even more abominations from the prone forms of the surviving mages that were trapped up there with them. A few failed to resist the cleansing effects of the spell, and lurched toward her with murder in their eyes, but Shadow was not about to let anything happen to his mistress and took them down by tearing out their throats and ending their torment mercifully quickly.

Eventually they had succeeded, and led the tired and exhausted First Enchanter down from the Tower to satisfy Knight-Commander Greagoir that order had been restored. He accepted this rather quickly all things considered, and at once sent out a runner to cancel his request for the Rite of Annulment.

The First Enchanter himself had turned out to be both a grateful and an honourable man. As soon as Bronwen explained the reasons behind her visit, he had at once put all the resources of the Circle at her disposal and begun preparations to gather together enough lyrium to send one of their number into the Fade to help young Connor back in Redcliffe. After that, he had pledged to honour the Grey Warden treaties and to send all the mages he could spare to stand at their side against the coming Blight.

Then to their surprise, Senior Enchanter Wynne had asked to join them permanently, offering up her services as a magic-user and healer. Bronwen had welcomed her warmly, recognising her considerable skills and eager to have another mage on board and for his part, Alistair felt a damn sight better about having Wynne around than he did Morrigan.

And it was also someone else to talk to on the long trek back to Redcliffe. Not that he was _avoiding_ talking to Bronwen as such but just lately, things had become a little tense_._

Alistair inhaled deeply before letting out a calm soothing breath.

Maybe tense was an understatement…

Things had actually been pretty bloody awkward since she had decided to let _the_ _Assassin _join their merry little band.

Seriously! What was she thinking? He'd been hired to kill them for Andraste's sake!

Zevran Arainai was an Antivan elf, tanned skin, shining eyes, and in desperate need of a cold shower. Even when he'd been lying on the ground with Bronwen's blade at his throat, he'd still managed to be all smiles and fluttering eyelashes, selling himself like a wench in a cheap tavern. They should have run him off then, right after he ambushed them on the road back to Redcliffe, but nooo…

Bronwen had taken one look at his handsome face and then swooned like a chantry maid.

Actually, that was unfair.

She did almost kill him during the initial ambush, and she'd also threatened to torture him as well unless he confessed who it was that had hired him. Which incidentally he did without even pausing for thought, revealing all too eagerly that Teryn Loghain had approached the guild of assassins known as the Antivan Crows.

Of which the elf was one

Apparently.

But Bronwen had taken him at his word and spared his life, and Zevran had given his word to fight alongside her in return.

Oh please…the word of an assassin? Like that was worth anything.

Since then of course, they'd been as thick as thieves. They'd sit together during meals, laughing at each other's jokes, flirting wildly and sharing stories of the scandalous things they both got up to in their respective pasts. Right in front of his bloody nose, Zevran would whisper _Maker knows what_ creepy suggestions into Bronwen's ear while, and she in turn would laugh and pretend to be outraged, all the while with a knowing look on her face and amused glint in her eyes. From time to time, she would even glance nervously in Alistair's direction, and for a split second, he could almost believe that it was himself that she was attracted to, and not the golden elf. But then Zevran would follow her gaze, wink conspiratorially at him and drag her attention back to his pointy eared, silver tongued, over-sexed self.

Bastard…

With a heavy sigh, Alistair rose from his seat on a broken stump and stomped over to his tent. Wynne was taking watch and she looked at him with something partway between understanding and sympathy. The old mage had a knack for seeming to know exactly what he was thinking and had tried to lift his spirits earlier with some risqué talk and a shoulder to cry on, but right now he just wanted to sleep and forget all about Zevran bloody Arainai and the way he looked at Bronwen…

"Alistair?"

The former templar drew up short as she suddenly emerged from a tent…her own tent, thank the Maker! "Lady Cousland. I was just about to retire for the night."

"Lady Cousland is it now?" The raven-haired ranger looked at him quizzically. "You're being very formal tonight."

"Oh you know..." Alistair shrugged and hoped he sounded more at ease than he felt. "I wouldn't want to overstep my bounds or anything."

"Overstep your…" Bronwen frowned and shook her head. "Look, what's this about? Have I done something to upset you?"

"You, upset me?" He laughed nervously. "No, dear lady. It's just…just…I don't know. Everything that's happened recently I suppose."

"Ah, I see." She looked down and refused to meet his eyes. "This is about what happened back at Kinloch Hold isn't it? The way I acted with the templars? Overstepping my bounds?"

"Yes that's…no, wait…what?" He felt somewhat perplexed as he watched her walk over to nearby fallen log.

"I'm sorry, Alistair." She said with a sigh as she sat down, holding her head in her hands. "I've never been particularly fond of the Chantry and its stance on magic users, and the way those templars were willing to kill everyone inside without even _trying_ to save anybody…I should have given you the chance to speak to them. The Knight-Commander might have listened to you."

She looked so upset that he knew he couldn't just leave her like that.

If nothing else, they were at least supposed to be friends.

"Hey." He said softly, taking a seat beside her. "It's not your fault. Actually, I doubt Ser Greagoir would have listened to me either, especially considering I left the order. Can you honestly imagine a Knight-Commander agreeing to a request from an ex-templar about freeing mages? You know, I'm pretty sure the Chantry has rules against that. It has rules for just about everything else."

She nodded in agreement. "I always thought you were a believer in the Maker's word though?"

"In the Maker, yes. In the Chantry…not so much. I already told you that I _hated_ living in the monastery."

"Yes, but you've keep up the templar training, some of it anyway." The night was drawing in and Bronwen hugged her knees to her chest to keep warm. "How come you didn't stop altogether if you hated it?"

**"**Have you seen the uniform? It's not only stylish, but well-made and I'm a sucker for good tailoring."

She finally met his eyes and couldn't help but smile at the silly grin on his face. "Templars must be more vain than I thought as I don't know anyone else that expects to see 'good-tailoring' on _plate armour_!"

"Oh that's just in public." He leaned in close and pretended to whisper. "In private we all have these yellow and purple tunics, right? Much more comfortable, and you don't break the beds when you jump on them during a pillow fight!"

"Oh here we go." She chuckled and nudged him the ribs with her elbow. "Next you'll be telling me that you all wore pink floral dresses on a Sunday just so you could attend the weekly dance!"

"Actually they were blue…" He said with as much conviction as he could muster, but then noticed that she was staring to shiver with the cold. "Hold on second. I'll be right back."

Quickly, he ducked into his tent and picked up blanket. After shaking it out in the night air, he curled it around Bronwen's shoulders and then wrapped his arm around her slim waist to draw her in close and share his body heat.

He also tried not to notice the way it made him feel to have her so near…

"Listen…" He began, his mouth becoming suddenly dry. "You don't really want to know about my being a templar, do you? It's actually quite boring, but there's no harm in obliging. When I'm finished, I have a couple of interesting-looking moles I can show you later too…if you're interested."

She just raised a faintly amused eyebrow at that and just snuggled in even tighter, leaning her head against his shoulder.

"Alright, you asked for it." He rested his cheek against her hair and took a deep breath. "The truth of the matter is that I _did_ hate going to the monastery, but I took some solace in the training itself, I guess. I was actually quite good at it. Being able to use the abilities I have, only came after years of education and discipline that was difficult to achieve, if rewarding. The sword training and religious doctrine all came later."

"And that was the part that you didn't like?"

"Oh I enjoyed the sword training, but as for everything else…I…I Just never really felt at home. Although I guess after leaving Redcliffe as a boy, I'd never really felt at home anywhere until I joined the Grey Wardens, and Duncan said that he felt my templar abilities might be useful for when we encountered darkspawn magic, so that's why I kept it up. What about you? Do you have anywhere you consider home?"

He could have kicked himself when he heard the question tumble from his lips, but Bronwen simply looked up into his eyes and answered quietly.

"Home was the Castle in Highever was where I was raised along with my brother. I loved my mother and father, I loved them so much, but for all that I don't think I was cut out to be a noblewoman and it always felt so confining being trapped behind those tall, stone walls." She smiled sadly and once more laid her head against his shoulder. "For all the time I spent there, all the happy times I shared with my family, I'm not sure that I ever felt truly at home. At least not as much as I do being a Grey Warden…here…with you."

"I...I didn't know you felt that way." Alistair's breath caught suddenly in his chest. "I mean, we won't always be traveling like this, you know. Once the war is over, once the Blight is...well, a time will come when we'll have to think about having a real home again, though that seems like a far ways off…and I suppose the Grey Wardens are gone for good, either way."

"Maybe we can rebuild them?" She said, once more gazing up at him with her eyes shining like polished grey agate. "There has to be way."

"I suppose you're right." He agreed, but he couldn't quite shake the melancholy feeling that still crept over him when he thought of Duncan, and all the other noble souls who had fallen at Ostagar. "We could create new Grey Wardens, but we'll never get back those we lost. I wonder if it will ever feel the same. Anyhow, now I've side-tracked us, and I really should go get some sleep."

"Do you have to go now?" Bronwen asked gently clasping his arm. "I mean...there was something else that I was hoping to talk to you about."

Alistair tensed.

This was the part of the conversation he been dreading all evening.

"No, really, you don't have to say anything." He felt a flush beginning to burn in his cheeks and held up his hands. "That is to say you don't need to explain anything that might be difficult to hear…I mean difficult to say. Your private life is your own and I…"

"Alistair…"

"…wouldn't want to put you in an awkward position by…"

"Alistair…"

"…brining up something that is obviously personal…"

"Alistair! Will you let me speak?" Bronwen's voice rose enough to carry over to the main camp, and she took a calming breath before speaking again. "I just wanted to be honest with you, to let you know that after everything we've shared, everything we've been through…Maker's breath this is hard."

"No. Stop. You don't have to say it." He felt sick to his stomach. "This is really all about him isn't it? It's all about that blasted Antivan."

"What?" Bronwen's face fell.

"Zevran." There was a bitter taste in his mouth and he grimaced. "I've seen the way you two are around each-other. Believe me, anybody watching you together knows exactly how you feel about him."

"Excuse me!" Her scowl was so fierce, he could practically feel the anger radiating outward from her body. "What are you on about? I'm trying to tell you something important and you're talking about my friendship with Zevran?"

"Your _friendship_, oh please. He's an assassin for goodness' sake!" Alistair felt his own temper rising even as he puzzled over the furious, hurt look on her face. "I've seen the way he looks at you and it's certainly not _friendship_ that's on his mind, though he's as likely to kill you as he is to kiss you!"

"Oh just listen to yourself!" She snapped, throwing off his blanket and scrambling to her feet. "You're acting like a bloody child, Alistair! Zev and I are just friends and yes, I know he's a killer, and yes I know he's a terrible flirt, but I trust him. I don't know why, but I do. At least he doesn't judge me, or try to tell me what I feel. Maker knows at least I know where I'd stand with him, and it has to be a damned sight easier than this!"

Alistair suddenly found himself staring up into the sky when Bronwen roughly pushed him off the log and flat onto his back. He could hear her swearing and muttering to herself as she stalked back to her tent, and he thought it best to wait she was out of sight before pulling himself upright again.

A prickly feeling called his attention toward the campfire, and he turned to see that Wynne was watching him with a reproving look on her face that left no doubt as to what she thought about the exchange. Worse than that, if their voices had really carried that far then _he_ must have heard, and no doubt the Antivan would be greatly amused by the whole , embarrassing incident.

Fantastic.

After acknowledging Wynne with a somewhat sheepish smile and a face as red as hurlock's arse, Alistair quickly ducked into his own tent and sat in the dark with his head in his hands.

What in Thedas had he been thinking?

Why didn't he let Bronwen speak?

What was it that she was actually trying to tell him…

'_Maker knows at least I know where I'd stand with him, and it has to be a damned sight easier than this!'_

A rush of reality as cold as the wind across the lake washed over him as he finally realised what she'd been trying to say. He'd spent so much time wrapped up in his own petty jealousy that he hadn't really listened to her words, even when she had stated it so blatantly.

For all his sexy talk and overconfidence, Bronwen Cousland wasn't into Zevran Arainai.

Could it be that…well, could it be that she actually cared for him? Maker…and now damn it all, he may well have just gone and blown it.

You bloody idiot, Alistair.

As he lay back on his bedroll, he angrily cursed himself for a fool and spent what was left of a restless night wishing he could have confessed what was really in his heart.

And not the jealous imaginings of his mind…

* * *

Bronwen sighed as she looked out of the window of the inn overlooking the village. Ever since she and her companions had helped to defeat the evil that had been plaguing the villagers, Bella had been unwilling to accept any money for their lodgings and board _even_ when they had returned with an extra couple of bodies in tow. It was decidedly generous of her, especially since one of them had a liking for late nights and fine Antivan brandy…

Speaking of which, she wondered if the assassin had enjoyed his stay with the gracious red-haired landlady as much as she appeared to, but then again judging from the ecstatic cries that broke the silence every night, they both seemed to be having a fantastic time!

Zevran was absolutely incorrigible…

When they first returned to Redcliffe a few days ago, they had gone directly to the Castle, eager to relay the good news that the mages of the Tower were more than willing to lend their aid in freeing young Connor Guerrin from the clutches of whatever demon had possessed him.

It was of great surprise to Bronwen that she was greeted not only by Bann Teagan and the Lady Isolde, but also First Enchanter Irving and a small conclave of Magi. Just how they had gotten there before her was anybody's guess, but on seeing her, Irving had smiled warmly and thanked her once again for liberating the Tower, before carrying on with the mystical business of performing the ritual that would send one of their number into the Fade.

Wynne had volunteered to help the lad immediately and even Morrigan, who had insisted on accompanying Bronwen to the Castle probably more to flaunt her apostate status in front of the First Enchanter than anything else, was reluctantly agreeable to the idea. Ultimately though, Bronwen chose to send into the Wynne the Fade. The elderly mage was as committed as she was resilient, and there was a strength in her that shone through the brilliant blue of her eyes like a beacon of hope.

A couch had been brought into the great hall and Wynne had lay upon it as the other mages chanted around her, wreathed in the thick blue smoke that came from the small bubbling cauldron of lyrium hanging over the fire. The First Enchanter said some words that seemed to coalesce into swirling patterns in the air, before he drew off a ladleful of the strange liquid and handed it to Wynne. Lifting it carefully to her lips, she swallowed it down in a few anxious gulps and then it appeared as if she passed instantly into the deepest sleep. It wasn't a peaceful sleep though, nor was it a restful one, and Brownen had found herself kneeling beside the elderly mage, clasping her hand with concern as her skin turned ashen and her breathing became shallow.

After a while it was hard to tell whether minutes or hours had passed until suddenly, Wynne sat bolt upright and gasped 'the boy is free…'

Without waiting for rest of them, Isolde had gone running up the stairs in a mother's blind panic, swiftly followed by Teagan and Alistair. After seeing that Wynne was comfortable and leaving her in the expert care of the First Enchanter, Bronwen had rushed up after them and found Isolde cradling Connor in her arms, weeping openly and offering all of them her sincere gratitude for his safe return. Connor himself seemed to have retained no memory at all of his ordeal, which was probably just as well, and for a short while there was happiness in the castle once again.

Alistair had then asked after Arl Eamon, and it was with a heavy heart that Bann Teagan had led them to his bedside. The Arl was still in a comatose state and when Wynne was able to join them, she confirmed that there was to be nothing to be done for him with magic alone.

As she looked upon Alistair's disconsolate face, Bronwen had found it hard not to reach out and comfort the warrior, but her anger with him for the harsh words of the previous night, and the sting of his jealous accusation was still too fresh in her mind, and she refrained from doing so.

When they left the Arl to his rest, Isolde was waiting for them and she told them the legend of the Urn of Sacred Ashes, the very urn said to contain the burnt remains of Andraste herself. Only the ashes could restore Eamon to full health, she had claimed, and she had already lost many knights after sending them to the far corners of Ferelden in its pursuit.

As a non-believer, Bronwen had looked sceptically at Teagan to see if she could find some sign that he too thought she was mad, but she could only see that he was as desperate as his brother's wife to find a cure. Faced with a lack of more rational alternatives, there was nothing else to do but try and succeed where the knights had failed. If they were to have any chance of uniting the land against Loghain at the Landsmeet in Denerim, they needed Eamonn and if finding a mythical urn was the only way to do it, then so be it.

So Bronwen found herself volunteering her companions for yet another quest, even as the Blight gathered in strength and darkspawn moved over the land.

It was never simple…

A steady rain had begun to fall outside and Bronwen closed her eyes to listen to its rhythmic beat as it drummed on the window pane. Teagan had offered to give them rooms at the castle but the look that Isolde had given Alistair, suggested that the warm welcome extended by the Teagan would quickly take a chill in light of her feelings about the templar, and so she had politely declined his invitation and then taken the group back to the tavern.

But not before telling Isolde exactly what she thought of her.

Actually the tavern itself was quite comfortable, and her room was set overlooking the village beneath. At first, Bella had been concerned about Shadow being confined in such a small space and the landlady had reluctantly asked if he could remain outside, but Shadow was no ordinary wolf. Bella's jaw had dropped when instead, Bronwen magically dismissed him back to the wild realm he occupied when not called upon to walk beside her in this world. She may not have had the talent for spirit and shapeshifting that Morrigan had, or be able to heal and use primal energies like Wynne, but the skills required to be a true ranger were as old and mysterious as the forests of Highever themselves, and if nothing she had been trained well in her art.

Speaking of Wynne, the Circle Mage had opted to share a room with Leliana and the two seemed to be developing a firm friendship. Sten had at first been roomed with Zevran, but fortunately for the stoic Qunari, the elf had caught Bella's eye the moment he walked in. One flash of that smile of his and Bronwen knew exactly where _he_ would be sleeping!

Probably just as well, all things considered…

Ever the loner, Morrigan had chosen to room by herself, and as for Alistair…

Alistair was roomed right across the hall.

Damn…she was trying not to think about him.

No-one, but _no-one_ had ever gotten under her skin like he did. How was it that someone could be so kind and understanding, and yet so bloody stupid and infuriating at exactly the same time! That whole outburst about Zev for example! What in the hells had brought that on? It was obvious to everyone that the two of them didn't get on, but why he thought that she and Zevran were some kind of item, well it was just ridiculous. While he was certainly a flirt and not at all shy about coming out with whatever was on his mind at the time, there was definitely nothing between them apart from a shared appreciation of the finer points of bladesmanship and a love of filthy jokes. Zevran was handsome and charming enough, but he just wasn't…he wasn't…

He wasn't Alistair.

And how could the templar seriously think that she would take up with the Antivan without sparing a second thought for his feelings. He had to know that she cared for him…surely…?

A knock at the door interrupted her train of thought and she called to whoever it was to enter.

"Hey." Alistair smiled softly as he pushed the door aside and stepped into her room closing the door lightly behind him. "While we're here and we have a bit of time to ourselves, I was hoping that we could talk…about what happened at Redcliffe Castle, I mean."

"Oh…of course."

Bronwen felt a lump in her throat. She'd been almost certain he was going to say 'about what happened at camp', but maybe he wasn't ready for that yet.

"I…just wanted to…thank you." He stammered, struggling to meet her gaze. "You went out of your way to save the Arl's family and you did, even though it would have been easier not to. There's been so much death and destruction, it...well, it makes me feel good that at least we were able to save something, no matter how small. I owed the Arl that much."

Maker, but he looked beautiful.

He stood before her in a crisp white undershirt, belted into a pair of dark buckskin britches, which in turn were tucked into his travel worn boots. His shirt was open at the neck and Bronwen could see the broadness of his muscular chest stretching out beneath the thin cotton fabric. His arms were large and more finely shaped than any sculptor could hope to create, and his solid thighs flexed as he rocked subconsciously from one foot to the other.

"We'll need Arl Eamon's help if we're going to defeat the Blight." She said matter-of-factly, trying not to stare too hard. "And if we help him, then maybe we have a good chance save so much more."

"You're right." He said as he finally lifted his face toward her. "Hopefully by that time there'll still be enough of Ferelden left to save."

Looking into his handsome, careworn face, Bronwen found all her previous anger with the templar disappearing into the swirling, caramel depths of his eyes.

"You know…" she began, feeling somewhat breathless. "Actually, I didn't agree to do it for Teagan or Isolde, or even for the Arl. The real reason I did it, the real reason I helped, was because I wanted to do it for you. The things you care about mean a lot to me too."

She felt her cheeks flushing and shrugged awkwardly.

"Well, that and because we need forces to stand against the Blight, obviously."

"Oh yes, well, obviously…" The hopeful smile that danced across his lips seemed to brighten the room despite the evening's growing darkness and the rainclouds outside. For a time, neither of them seemed willing to move or speak, and Bronwen almost jumped when Alistair suddenly clapped his hands together.

"Good…now that the warm, fuzzy part of the day is over with we can get back to the ritual dismemberments. Oh wait…it's not Tuesday is it?" He cocked an eyebrow at her and Bronwen couldn't help but laugh.

"I knew there was a reason I liked talking to you." She chuckled softly.

"You do?" Alistair joked. "Well in that case, I'll make sure I talk to you more often. I can drone on for hours, you know."

He laughed gently and then moved toward the door. "Anyway, I should probably go back to my room or the others will start to get the wrong idea…"

"Alistair, hold on!" Bronwen started as she remembered something and grabbed her pack from the bed in the corner. "I meant to give you this before we set out for Kinloch Hold, but I never got the chance and then after we fought…I'm sorry, here."

Bronwen took one of Alistair's calloused hands in her own and deposited a small, silver amulet on an old chain into his palm. Where once the amulet had been broken and shattered, it had since been mended with great care and obvious affection causing the symbol of Andraste's holy flame to gleam as it brightly as it must have when it was first made.

"This...this is my mother's amulet, it has to be!" Alistair trembled slightly as he turned the amulet over in his hands and gazed at it in disbelief. "But why isn't it still broken? Where did you find it?"

"I knocked it off a desk when we were fighting those undead soldiers in Redcliffe Castle." Bronwen said quietly, as Alistair sat down on her bed and looked up at her in surprise. "We were in the study, I think…"

"Oh, the Arl's study?" She nodded in response to Alistair's question. "Then he must have found the amulet after I threw it against the wall…and he repaired it and kept it. I don't understand, why would he do that?"

Bronwen sighed as she sat beside him and reached her arm across his broad shoulders.

"Perhaps he still cared about you enough to want to make things right?" She whispered, hugging him gently.

"I guess so. We never really talked that much about it, and then the way I left…" He smiled sadly. "Thank you, I mean it. I thought I'd lost this to my own stupidity. I'll need to talk to the Arl about this if he recovers from his...when he recovers, that is. I wish I'd had this a long time ago.

Alistair slipped the amulet into his shirt pocket and then looked deeply into her eyes.

"Did you remember me mentioning it? Wow... I'm more used to people not really listening when I go on about things."

"Of course I remembered…" Bronwen answered, her heart pounding inside her chest. "You're special to me."

She didn't realise how close they were until she felt his breath ghosting against her skin. Rough hands cupped her face with surprising tenderness as Alistair hesitantly brushed his lips across hers, then settled over them as he bashfully explored her mouth with the tip of his tongue. Reaching up, she affectionately caressed his cheek, delighting in the sensation of his stubble on her fingertips and surrendered every breath she had to the emotion of his kisses.

As his confidence grew, he gently pushed his tongue inside her mouth and curled it around her own, the kiss becoming deeper and more passionate. Bronwen moaned softly as her pulse quickened and her body reacted with an needful longing as he drew her in even closer, pressing his hard, muscular body against hers and holding her tightly in his strong, safe arms.

"Wow…" Alistair gasped, gently breaking away from her and flushing a deep red. "Is this the part where the music starts and we begin dancing, because I'm game! Where are the minstrels?"

Bronwen laughed as the former templar suddenly jumped up from her bed and took more than a few deep, shuddering breaths! He laughed with her and seemed almost giddy with happiness, not that she felt immune from the sensation herself, but then he was at her door with his hand upon the latch.

He was _leaving_…

After seeing the confusion creeping into her expression, he smiled bashfully and then opened it a fraction. "I…I _really_ should go before I say something stupid and you think I'm an idiot again. Well, that and it's the gentlemanly thing to do I suppose."

He hesitated slightly and Bronwen was on the brink of asking him to stay, but there was something in the way he looked at her…

"Well if you that's what you really want?" She said, hoping secretly that it wasn't. "Then I suppose this is goodnight, Alistair."

"Goodnight, Lady Cousland."

There was a mixed look of regret and relief on Alistair's face as he slipped out of her room and into the hall beyond. It was rather curious, considering he'd been the one who kissed her, but then again he'd looked so embarrassed afterwards…

Bronwen frowned slightly as she puzzled over his reaction and then flopped back onto the bedclothes. The way he'd kissed her, she'd felt almost certain that he wanted so much more, but then he'd stopped so suddenly that it was as if it had all been some wonderful dream.

As the rain continued to pour outside, Bronwen was left all alone with her thoughts and feelings, and as far as Alistair was concerned, they seemed to be becoming one and the same.

Truth be told, she wasn't sure if that was terrifying or exhilarating.


	4. Lampposts in Winter

LAMPPOSTS IN WINTER

After the abundant fauna and the lush flora of the forest, entering the ancient elven ruins that served as home to Witherfang and the werewolves was like going from day to night in an instant. Bronwen contemplated this and more as she lead her party deep into the blackness beyond, musing over the events that had led to such a detour…

They had departed from Redcliffe on horseback, a gift from Bann Teagan, and made swift progress as they rode toward Denerim. A scholar by the name of Brother Genitivi lived there and was supposed to have some information on the Urn of Ashes, so it seemed wise to start their search by finding out just what he knew.

It was on this journey that Leliana had pointed out the Brecilian Forest was more or less on their path if they were sticking to the main roads. So Bronwen decided to use the opportunity to try and _kill two birds with one stone_ so to speak, and present the resident clan of Dalish elves with the call to arms as set out in the Grey Warden treaties.

So far the only allies she could count on were the mages of Kinloch Hold and the soldiers of Redcliffe, though even that depended on whether or not they could revive the Arl. As things stood, if the darkspawn decided to attack now, Ferelden would surely fall and then Maker knows what would happen to the rest of Thedas. Her main priority had to be gathering together a force so strong it was capable of resisting the Blight and so far, things was looking a little bit shaky.

Finding the Dalish had not proved to be so difficult.

Getting the clan's Keeper to even talk to her…now that had been an achievement.

They had encountered an elven hunting party on the outskirts of the forest and after they had been _escorted_ to the Dalish camp, they had been left under guard while the hunt leader, Mithra reported to the Keeper.

Alistair had been a marvel of tact and diplomacy despite the dark looks and suspicious reactions from the elves that gathered to stare at the new _visitors_, while Leliana had managed to trade songs and tales with the resident storyteller, Sarel. Morrigan had been distantly curious about the deer-like halla that were penned at the rim of the camp and Wynne had been granted permission to gather up some of the elfroot that grew in abundance all around them. Sten though, had simply stood and glared at all around him as if he could wither them into submission with a glance. It didn't help that he stood head and shoulders above everyone else and was as mirthless and sombre as only a Qunari could be.

As there seemed to be little else to do but wait, Bronwen had relaxed against one of the tall trees and scratched Shadow behind the ears as he lay beside her in the dappled sunlight. The wolf seemed right at home in the forest, delighting in the new smells and sights as if he was a cub again. The Dalish had been wary of him at first, but once they realised he meant no harm, they had allowed him to roam the camp with impunity and if there had been any threat present, then the astute wolf would have picked up on it straight away.

As usual, Zevran had sought her out and for once his intention was not to try and convince her to bed him with his witty banter. Instead he had spoken of his experiences as a child and confessed that his _mother_ had been Dalish. As she watched his glittering eyes rove over the campsite, Bronwen wondered just what it must be like for him to be there. Seeing the Dalish elves going about their everyday lives was something that for the sake of a decision made long ago, Zevran could well have been a part of.

Still, if he felt any kind of regret about his life he never showed it. Listening to the ribald tales of his time spent with the Antivan Crows, it was hard to imagine the elf doing anything else than _other_ than being an assassin…but at certain times during their conversations, there was a definite note of sadness that crept into his lilting voice.

Presently, Mithra had returned with another elven female named Lanaya. Lanaya seemed a lot less intolerant of Bronwen and her _shem_ ways and spoke openly of the Dalish and their culture before leading her to a tall, imperious looking elf without a single hair on his head.

The Dalish Keeper Zathrian had not, as it turned out, exactly agreed to honour the treaties but neither had he declined. It seemed that the clan itself was under attack by a local pack of werewolves, led by a snow-white wolf called Witherfang.

He took great pains to point out that many of the clan's best warriors had been either killed or infected with lycanthropy themselves as they tried to hunt down and eradicate the beasts, and Bronwen had the ominous feeling that if they were to secure the help of the elves, their assistance would be required to deal with their little _werewolf_ problem first.

Seeing little choice but to agree, she had arranged for Sten, Morrigan and Leliana to remain at the camp while she took Alistair, Zevran, Shadow and Wynne deep into the forest to locate the werewolves' lair. Zathrian had been most insistent that only the death of Witherfang could end the reign of terror that the Dalish had endured, but there was something in his demeanour that just...didn't seem right.

It felt like they'd trekked through the lush vegetation for hours before they encountered their first adversaries, thought they were not the expected werewolves.

A feeling of nausea in the pit of her stomach alerted her to the presence of darkspawn and Bronwen had quickly looked to Alistair, pleased to see the powerful warrior had already drawn his gleaming sword from its scabbard.

It was a small party thankfully, with more genlocks than hurlocks. Though the fight was brutal, the party operated as one to defeat the tainted creatures. Alistair served as a protector and made himself a target, giving Wynne the chance to cast her more offensive spells from a safe distance without threat of immediate danger. Bronwen's sharp dual blades sliced through hamstrings and throats alike, while Shadow tore apart his enemies as if their presence in the forest was an affront to nature. Ever the marksman, Zevran stood at Wynne's side and picked off any stragglers with his short, curved bow, delighting in his natural ability to deliver perfectly targeted death with all the ruthless efficiency of a trained killer.

They used similar tactics when they were finally ambushed by the werewolves…

The creatures had come upon them in a copse of trees and the way they fought was like nothing Bronwen had ever experienced before. It wasn't just the nature of their attack, it was more the passion and the desperation with which they fought. Eventually, one of their number had spoken and Bronwen quickly ordered her companions to stand down. The werewolf, a shaggy beast by name of Swiftrunner, had snarled and growled as he berated them for working with the accursed Dalish to _murder_ Witherfang. The raw pain and obvious anger on his voice had given Bronwen pause for thought and she had tried to negotiate with the creature, but his distrust ran deep.

Taking his remaining pack members with him, Swiftrunner had disappeared into the heart of the forest through a curiously placed barrier of thick fog. Bronwen tried to follow, but oddly found herself back where she started! Wynne said there was definitely old magic involved, and that it shrouded the werewolves' lair from the eyes of all who would seek it.

This was not the work of the bestial, unthinking creatures that Zathrian had led them to believe they were…

Help had come unexpectedly in the guise of an ancient sylvan, a creature more tree than animal. In exchange for an acorn that they had taken from a mad hermit that they had encountered in a nearby clearing, the Grand Oak sylvan had given them a branch of his own wood that allowed them to pass through the magical barrier.

Just why the hermit had the acorn in the _first_ place was something of a mystery to Bronwen, but on passing it to the Oak he had cradled it just as a father would cradle a child and then bade them well on their journey before slipping into stillness that made her wonder if she had only imagined the whole thing!

Thus, they had passed through the barrier and arrived at the foreboding ruins that loomed out of the fog on the other side.

Bronwen sighed heavily and once more, peered into the gloom.

So much for killing two birds with one stone!

At this rate, they'd be lucky to survive long enough to stand against the Blight let alone find Witherfang…get back to the camp…recruit the Dalish…set off for Denerim…find Brother Genitivi…and then retrieve the Urn of Ashes and revive the Arl, before they had to go rushing off again to try and convince the dwarves of Orzammar to honour the treaties they carried!

That was assuming Loghain didn't hire another band of assassins to try and kill them on the way…

"Who knew being a Grey Warden was so much fun." Bronwen muttered, suddenly feeling tired of the constant conflict.

"Are you okay?" Alistair was at her side, a concerned look on his face as he brushed the back of his fingers against her cheek.

"I'm fine." She replied, trying to gather her strength as she took an old torch from the wall. "Andraste's tits, but this Blight has come at the worst time hasn't it?"

"Oh, didn't you get the message?" Alistair cocked his eyebrow at her and grinned. "The Archdemon was going to start the Blight in Eluviesta but he didn't want to spoil everyone's summer holidays. Considerate of him really…"

Despite her fatigue, Bronwen managed to chuckle. "I'll be sure to thank him when the time comes."

"Tainted Old Gods are like that, you know?" He continued, taking the torch from her and lighting it with a tinderbox he drew from his pack. "Always thinking of others, waiting until the worst months to begin the slaughtering and the killing so it doesn't spoil your day."

"If you two are quite finished?" Wynne smiled knowingly as Alistair winked at her and held out the torch to reveal a narrow staircase leading downward. "Should we proceed and find this Witherfang, or not? Time is pressing."

"I'll go in front." Alistair shrugged off Bronwen's protestation to contrary before she could even utter a word. "Silverite armour and a bloody good shield will stand up to teeth and claws much better than studded leather and mage robes."

"A good point, well made!" Zevran agreed, running a hand through his white blonde hair. "Besides I can come up the rear, so to speak. It is after all, a role I am used to."

"Just be certain to watch my back, would you?" Alistair made a point of ignoring the Antivan. "I don't like the look of it down there. It's probably full of creepy, crawly nasty things…"

"Like your laundry pile, perhaps?" Wynne retorted and cast a spell that instantly filled Bronwen's body with the warm glow of health and renewed her flagging energy levels.

"And you seem like such a nice old lady too…" Alistair sighed as he began to descend the stairs, taking the glow of the torch with him.

Wynne followed, her staff giving off a strangely comforting light as she stepped down behind the former templar.

"After you, my dear Warden."

Bronwen turned to find Zevran regarding her intently, his amber eyes glowing even in the disappearing torchlight.

"Tell me…" She asked, feeling as if he were undressing her with his gaze. "Do you make a habit of staring at people like that?"

"Not everyone, but a beautiful woman like yourself…why not?" He took a step closer and looked her up and down unashamedly. "I am sure you are a woman who draws many stares, from men and other women alike. Does this bother you?"

"Should it?" For the first time, Bronwen felt suddenly uncomfortable under the elf's scrutiny and she tried to keep her expression carefully neutral. "I think I'm quite capable of handling a little staring."

He drew closer still and smiled as if he'd just tasted the sweetest elven wine.

"But you would prefer I desisted, perhaps?" Zevran let the tip of his tongue roll suggestively over his top lip. "It would be…difficult, travelling as we do in close proximity. But I am nothing, if not a gentleman."

"A gentleman?" She raised an eyebrow and shook her head. "Only rogues and lovers stare as you do."

"Lovers, eh?" Zevran grinned broadly and stepped back. "Oh, now this is intriguing. I think I shall have to redouble my efforts immediately. You know, there was a young elven dancer in Antiva City and I believe I actually managed to stare off all seven of her skirts. It's certainly a trick worth retrying…"

"Are you two going to stand there all day?" Alistair's voice echoed up the stairs with an obvious edge of irritation.

"Ah, perhaps we should move on." Zevran muttered looking mildly peeved, then glanced back at Bronwen with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "With you in front, of course!"

"For the Maker's sake, Zev…" Bronwen groaned and began to descend toward the torchlight.

It wasn't until she was halfway down that she began to wonder just exactly how much of Zevran's talk was simple flirting…

And how much of it he actually meant.

* * *

"I promise to be gentle."

Bronwen sighed deeply as she lowered herself down to the patch of thick moss between Alistair's shapely thighs. She could feel the heat from his naked, muscled torso as he leaned toward her back and pressed expert fingers into the tender muscles of her aching shoulders, and the way his hot breath danced across the back of her neck was an exquisite delight.

"By Andraste's holy arse that feels good…" She moaned, resting her hands on his knees as if she was sitting in a particularly comfortable chair. "How come you don't you ever ache like this after?"

"Oh I ache…" Alistair replied. "But not, I'm pleased to say, after a couple of hours of light weapons training."

"Light weapons training!" Bronwen exclaimed, twisting around to try to look into the templar's eyes but then deciding that too much movement was _really_ a bad idea. "This may have been some afternoon's entertainment for you, but the only blades I ever trained with were short-swords and long knives! Long-swords are just too bloody heavy and ungainly, and that shield-thing is more trouble than it's worth."

"Buckler." Alistair corrected with a chuckle. "It's a whitewood buckler."

"Then that _buckler_ felt like it weighed a ton!" She twitched as Alistair began to massage the tightness out of her body. "I don't know how you do it, carrying that great lump of metal around every day, when a perfectly balanced parrying dagger will deflect an attack just as well. Think I'll stick to the dual wield, thank you. And as for that new armour,…you'd have thought that Dalish crafters could somehow make the leather softer. It chafes like mad!"

"I'm fairly certain that if it was softer, then it wouldn't be much use when it came to turning a blade!" Alistair had begun to laugh and she could feel the vibrations running through his body. "Honestly, you've only worn it for a day! It may be heavier and um, stiffer than you're used to but like all leather, it needs time and use to become 'worn-in'. It'll feel comfortable soon enough if you give it chance. Maker, you do complain a lot for a fearsome warrior!"

"I'm not a fearsome warrior." Bronwen answered petulantly, reaching for another bottle of the sweet Dalish wine she'd purchased from the Varathorn earlier that day. "I'm a Ranger! Ran-ger! I'm meant to be frolicking in the forests, protecting the wild beasties. Not taking wild swings with a sword I can't lift and a shie…_buckler_ that just gets in the way!."

"Yes well, you asked me to show you how to use that." He nodded toward the discarded sword and shifted his hands so that he rubbed between her shoulder blades. "Anyway, it's just that your body just isn't used to this. You've spent so many years training as a dual-wielder, you can't expect to master the long-sword in an afternoon. It takes years of training to get used to handling your weapons correctly."

"I'll bet…" Bronwen giggled like a naughty child and took another drink of the Dalish wine. "Mmm, this stuff is good!"

"Yes, I noticed you were hogging the booze!"

Bronwen frowned as Alistair reached forward and took the bottle from her, before taking a long deep draught of the wine himself.

"Wow, that _is_ good!" He said with a grin. "How many bottles have we drunk so far?"

Bronwen looked at the pile next to Alistair's left foot. "Um, only three…oops, make that four. There's one over by that tree."

The wine had certainly gone a long way to help everybody unwind following the surprising turn of events in the depths of the Brecilian Forest.

After entering the ruins and fighting their way past werewolves, undead, giant spiders and even a bloody dragon for Andraste's sake, the party had finally found the lair of Witherfang.

Rather than some snarling ravening beast, the snow-white wolf had turned out to be a creature of unsurpassed beauty and the very embodiment of nature itself. When it turned into a svelte dryad with skin the colour of parchment and hair and eyes as dark as night itself, even Zevran had been stunned into silence.

The dryad introduced herself as the Lady of the Forest and told them all a tragic tale of how Zathrian himself had created the curse that turned an entire village of innocent humans into the werewolves around them as an act of revenge for the rape and murder of his daughter. Only he could end the curse and by doing so, end the suffering of both the transformed humans and their elven neighbours.

Sensing her goodness and the truth of her words, Bronwen had agreed to try and get the Dalish Keeper to come and speak with the Lady and somehow, she hadn't been all that surprised to find Zathrian alone and waiting for her as she exited the ruins.

The Keeper had indeed gone to speak with the Lady, but he refused to listen to reason and attacked not only her but Bronwen's party and the werewolves too. His power was great and Bronwen was trapped for a time in a tempest of hail and ice as he sought to destroy them all. Only Wynne's use of protective wards had kept them alive long enough to finally defeat him, and maybe it was the fact he was finally facing death that caused him to join Witherfang in wilfully surrendering their lives to end the curse.

They had decided to return to the Dalish camp after that, and because Bronwen had sustained an injury during the battle, both Alistair and Wynne had constantly fussed over her to make sure she was alright. Certainly, her companions both meant well, but in truth, the wound was nothing that an injury pack and a good night's rest wouldn't cure. Eventually she had chosen to scout ahead with only Shadow for company. The silent, reassuring company of the wolf also gave her time to compose her thoughts, and figure out what they were going to say to the clan about Zathrian…

When they finally reached the settlement and approached Lanaya, describing just what had happened in the Ruins proved to be somewhat delicate. Bronwen was secretly relieved that Alistair had stepped in to explain things in his own diplomatic fashion, and though the news of Zathrian's mysterious death was met with sadness, the fact that the curse was ended and the humans who had been freed now sought only peace with their elven neighbours, had seemed to please the Dalish female greatly.

As it happened, Lanaya was to be the new Keeper of the clan, and had not only vowed to support them in the coming battle against the Blight, but had offered them the hospitality of the Dalish camp until they were ready to move on. She even bestowed a number of gifts upon the party as a mark of her high esteem, and gratitude in ending the curse.

So it was that Bronwen Cousland had found herself with a fresh set of studded Dalish leather armour, a silverite Dar'Missan long-sword and a small, intricately carved whitewood shield…sorry, buckler.

Right now, the freshly discarded armour lay in a heap next to Alistair's heavy plate, along with both their weapons. All afternoon they'd been practicing until finally she called an end to the torture, and suggested they freshen up in the nearby river.

Alistair being Alistair, he had done the decent thing and withdrawn to his own tent while Bronwen had stripped down to her underclothes and bathed in the pleasantly mild waters. The evening had still been warm, so afterwards she had thrown on a simple shift and stretched out on the cool moss while Alistair took his turn in the river.

Though she'd been too far away to see much, Bronwen hadn't been able to stop herself from peeking at the templar as he pulled off his shirt and britches and stepped into the river. Just seeing his muscular silhouette against the fading light had made her gasp loudly enough to be heard in the main camp, and Zev and Leliana had both glanced over in alarm, but Bronwen had simply shook her head and produced the first of the bottles of wine she had received from the Dalish.

When she'd eventually seen him striding back toward her in his britches and boots, carrying his shirt over his arm…she was glad that she was already sat down.

His torso was bronzed and perfect, dusted with a pattern of tawny hair across the broad expanse of his chest. His abdomen looked as if it was divided into segments, with each muscle perfectly aligned with it's opposite to create a plateau of strength at his core. Large broad shoulders supported thick muscular arms, each bulging bicep almost as thick as one of her thighs, and his forearms were solid and sculpted to perfection.

His face looked flushed from the exhilaration of bathing and she noticed he'd shaved. It only emphasised the strong masculinity of his square jaw and strong chin, and his soft, hazel eyes eyes glistened brightly with warmth and merriment.

Out the corner of her eye, she'd seen Leliana gesturing wildly to Wynne to look at the handsome templar approaching Bronwen's resting spot, and both women had seemed to be thoroughly enjoying what they saw! Morrigan had kept her eyes focused on the fire of course, but even Zevran had let his eyes roam all over Alistair's frame, and he'd smiled appreciatively as he nodded toward Bronwen with a peculiar look on his face.

As usual, Alistair had been completely oblivious to it all, and simply smiled as he knelt before her and commented on the bottle in her hand.

Safe in the knowledge that Dalish scouts were patrolling the surrounding area, they were able to relax and enjoy the evening.

Four bottles of wine later and here she was, sitting in front of Alistair with his hands working the knots out of muscles she didn't even know she had.

And it was heaven…

"So…" She groaned as he rubbed at a particularly resistant ache. "Did you do things like this when you were with the other Grey Wardens in Weisshaupt?"

"What, sit and rub their bare shoulders while getting pleasantly drunk?" Alistair chuckled softly. "I don't remember doing that at all!"

"No!" Laughed Bronwen, finally turning around to sit cross-legged in front of the handsome warrior. "I mean the training…and the drinking, I guess. What was it like being part of that?"

"I forget, you never met them all, did you?" Alistair smiled fondly and leaned back against the rock he'd been using to prop himself up. "They were quite a group…actually they felt like an extended family since we were all cut off from our former lives. We also laughed more than you'd think! There was this one time..."

He suddenly blushed and took another drink from the wine.

"Well, you probably don't want to hear stories about men you didn't know."

"As a matter of fact, I'd quite like to hear about them." Bronwen smiled and took the bottle from him before pressing it to her own lips. "Besides, I like listening to you talk."

"I told you before, keep saying things like that to me and you'll soon regret it!" Alistair winked at her and then clasped his arms behind his head. "Well, there was one Grey Warden who came all the way from the Anderfels…what was his name…Grigar, Gregor? He was a burly man with the biggest, fuzziest beard you've ever seen, and boy the man could drink!"

He shook his head as a broad smile lit up his face.

"He drank all the time but he never actually got drunk! Finally we all made a pool to see just how many pints it would take to put him under the table. Anyhow, we never did find out…"

"You lost the bet?"

"Oh yes! He said he'd drink a pint for every half-pint that the rest of us drank and he was still going by the time the rest of us were passed out. I'm told that Duncan walked in later on and saw us all unconscious, out from one end of the hall to the other, and Gregor still drinking! Duncan laughed until he nearly...until he..."

Deep sadness filled Alistair's eyes at the mention of the Grey Warden Commander and Bronwen respectfully lowered her face to the ground.

"I'm sorry, Alistair. I never meant to bring up painful memories." She sighed heavily. "I guess it still hurts a great deal."

"Yes, I...I suppose so." There was definite angst in his voice, though it was tinged with a note of anger. "I thought I was done with this, but...it just struck me that I have nothing to remember Duncan by. Nothing at all! There's no body, not even a token of his that I could take with me. That must... sound really stupid to you."

"No." Bronwen could feel the tension creeping through his massive frame and she grasped his chin in her hand and held his gaze. "It's not stupid to grieve for someone you cared about. You wouldn't be the man I…the man I know you are if you didn't feel anything."

Sitting there together, far enough away from her companions, Bronwen found herself wishing desperately that Alistair would just throw her down, tear off her clothes and make love to her like their lives depended on it. He looked so handsome in the evening light and the way his muscles flexed with every movement was like a symphony of physicality.

Unable to resist any further, she clambered over his thighs and sat upon his lap as she wrapped her arms around him. Her mouth hungrily sought his and she felt his hands stroking the small of her back as he returned her kisses tenfold, holding her tightly against his massive chest.

"I wonder…" She breathed between placing kisses over his eyelids, cheekbones and lips. "Has anyone ever told you how handsome you are?"

"Not unless they were asking me for a favour." He replied, trying to catch her mouth with his own. "Well there was that one time in Denerim, but those women were...not like you."

He pulled her even tighter against himself as he nibbled the sensitive skin of her throat. "Why, is this your way of telling me _you_ think I'm handsome?"

"Oh Maker…" Bronwen moaned, trying to concentrate despite the pleasant sensations running up and down her spine. "Alistair, you _know_ you're handsome."

"Maybe…" He murmured, moving from her neck to the exposed skin of her collarbone. "It doesn't hurt to have a pretty girl say that though…beats being run through with a sword any day…"

Alistair ended his exploration of her skin by returning to the heady passion of her kisses. His tongue gently pushed its way between her lips and Bronwen sucked at its pink length before swallowing him into her mouth and running her fingers through his short, dusky blonde hair. Reacting to her certainty, Alistair's strong hands then travelled up, up, up until he cupped each of her ample breasts in his gentle grip. On hearing the needful moan that fell involuntarily from her lips as he tenderly kneaded them, he lowered his head and kissed each pert nipple through the thin cotton fabric of her shift, even as she pushed down against his thighs and positioned herself over his groin.

The more they touched and kissed eachother, the more his confidence in his actions grew and grew.

It wasn't the only thing…

Creamy heat seeped from between Bronwen's thighs as she pressed against the growing hardness concealed beneath Alistair's britches. She moved her fingers from his hair to his chest and began to trace delicate circles around his own, exposed nipples before lowering her head to delicately seize one between her small white teeth. Alistair groaned in pleasure as she flicked her tongue over the sensitive tip as she began to grind rhythmically against his swollen member.

Slowly, deliberately she moved her hands to the laces of his britches…

And then found that Alistair had gently grasped her wrists, preventing her from liberating his throbbing manhood.

Bronwen gently pulled back and found herself meeting Alistair's shy smile.

"What is it?" She asked softly, reaching out to stoke his face. "Am I moving too fast?"

"No, no…" Alistair silenced her with another kiss and then brushed a stray hair out of her eyes as he leaned back. "Um, it's just…well..."

He began to blush furiously and at first Bronwen was confused, but then she finally grasped it…the reason he'd left her room in tavern back in Redcliffe…the reason he stopped her now...

Maker, it was so obvious…

"You said you were raised in the chantry." She said, smiling reassuringly as she took his hands in hers. "I'm guessing this means you've never…?"

"Never…never what?" Alistair answered with feigned innocence. "Never...had a good pair of shoes?"

"Oh come on." She teased, raising her eyebrow in mock reproof. "You know exactly what I mean!"

"I'm not sure I do." Alistair replied, chewing his lip as if deep in thought. "Have I never…seen a basilisk? Ate jellied ham? Ever…licked a lamppost in winter?"

"Alistair, don't make fun of me." She laughed softly, poking him in the ribs for good measure.

"Make fun of you dear lady, perish the thought!" Alistair chuckled as he squirmed beneath her. "Well…well, you tell me. Have you ever _licked a lamppost_ in winter?"

"If you mean what I think you mean, then I do have some experience…"

"Oh that's right! Quite brave really, considering you could have lost half of your tongue in the process. I'm impressed!" His face suddenly became more serious as he stared deeply into her stony grey eyes. "I myself never had _the pleasure_. Not that I haven't thought of it, but you know…"

"So, you've never been with a woman before." Bronwen confirmed, finally realising what it meant that he had even initiated tonight's intimacy.

"Well, living in the chantry is not exactly a life for rambunctious boys! They taught me to be a gentleman."Alistair lifted a hand and touched the side of her face so gently, it was as if she were made of Orlesian porcelain. "Especially in the presence of beautiful woman such as yourself. That's not so bad… is it?"

Bronwen felt as if her whole heart was laid open beneath Alistair's loving gaze and now it was her turn to blush.

"Do you really think I'm beautiful?"

"Of course you are and you know it." Alistair leaned forward and once more gathered her to his chest, kissing her, simply and tenderly. "You're ravishing, resourceful and all those other things you'd probably hurt me for not saying!"

Bronwen almost wept with joy as he held her in his powerful arms. "I'd never want to hurt you, Alistair…never."

"Nor I you." He answered solemnly and kissed her again before looking toward the camp. "Uh, look there. You realise it's almost time for your watch?"

Bronwen realised that night had drawn in, and that Morrigan, who had been on watch for the last two hours was glaring at them with a somewhat disgusted expression on her face.

"Damn." She pressed her forehead to his and then clambered off his lap. "I suppose I'd better make a move before she turns me into something unpleasant."

Grabbing her armour and weapons from the pile, she paused before grinning from ear to ear. "So Alistair, are you coming…or is it just the way you are sat?"

"Oh ha ha…very funny." Alistair laughed, gathering his plate with a clatter. "Let's be off now, lest your _risqué_ talk make my ears blush."

They both quickly dressed and rushed over to main camp, and as Alistair disappeared into his tent, Bronwen took her place by the fire. Just so she was clear on the issue, Morrigan made some barbed comments about such sickening displays of affection, rutting animals and Alistair's apparent lack of intelligence, but it didn't really matter. Bronwen wasn't paying all that much attention to the witch, and instead helped herself to steaming tankard of tea from the pot hanging over the campfire and settled down for her watch.

And for the first time in a long while, Bronwen felt more content than she'd felt in an age.


	5. The Blade and the Rose

**Author's note: Alistair and Bronwen get a little steamy toward the end of the chapter with some 'M' rated shenanigins...**

* * *

THE BLADE AND THE ROSE

"Ha ha ha…there see?" Zevran's infectious laugh brought a smile to Bronwen's face even as she felt the tip of his blade pricking at her thigh. "Again you raise your guard too high allowing the unscrupulous assassin time to deliver a paralysing stroke."

He grinned wickedly as he stepped back and resumed a more defensive posture.

"Although, the idea of being this close to your thighs is not exactly unpleasant, I have to confess…"

"Zev!" She exclaimed as she lunged forward, holding the Dar'Missan before her as Alistair had shown her. "One of these days, your tongue is going to get you into so much trouble!"

The Antivan neatly sidestepped her attack and caught both the Dalish long-sword, and her enchanted parrying dagger between his own twin blades.

"It would most certainly not be the first time." He purred as he twisted the sword awkwardly to one side, almost causing her to drop it to the ground. "Indeed, the things I can do with my tongue! I remember one time, the daughter of a certain merchant prince…"

"Don't tell me…" Bronwen chuckled, managing to slide the dagger free. "To save getting blood over your fine leathers, you talked her to death!"

She grinned as she angled the blade toward the Antivan's throat, causing him to duck low to avoid her winning stroke.

"Hsss!" Zevran's breath whistled through his teeth as he suddenly sprang up at her waist, his momentum carrying her to the ground. "Naughty girl! As usual you have the wrong impression of me…"

He was stronger than she had anticipated and his grip was like that of a blacksmith's vice. Bronwen grunted as the elf slammed her hands against the hard earth, knocking both the long-sword and dagger out of her grasp.

"What I did to that woman…" He purred as he pressed his body against hers, pinning her beneath him. "Was to open her up like a flower…"

"Zev…" Bronwen felt a familiar heat building deep inside as he leaned toward her, his full lips pouting suggestively.

"To feel her trembling as I placed my head between her legs…"

"Zev…"

"And to make her scream as I tasted every creamy orgasm…"

"Andraste's oath, Zevran!" Bronwen bucked violently beneath him as he brushed his lips against hers. "Don't you ever stop?"

"What?" The assassin asked innocently as he obligingly rolled to one side. "You were the one who wished to _practice_ with me, were you not?"

"Practice, yes...anything else, no!" Bronwen frowned as she scrambled back to her feet, disturbed by the way her body was reacting to the closeness of the Antivan. "Maker's breath Zev, I wanted to fence, not to..."

"To…to what amora?" Zevran grinned as he stretched languidly on the ground. "You think perhaps my intentions were not entirely honourable? I'm shocked!"

"Oh please." She turned her back to him, aware that her face was flushed and her heart was hammering in her chest. "Your intentions are perfectly clear, believe me."

"Well, I am nothing if not honest." He replied with a sigh. "I wonder though…if the same can be said of you?"

"Excuse me?" Bronwen scowled as she whirled about to face him.

"Oh come now." Zevran seemed to glide to his feet as he moved toward her. "I have seen the way you look at me…"

"Zevran, please don't say anymore." Bronwen closed her eyes against his words, all too aware of the grain of truth within them.

"Tsk tsk tsk, you look so tired, my dear." Zevran's velvet voice was heavy with passion. "It is all this constant walking and fighting. I think _I_ _know_ what you need…"

"And what's that exactly..." She replied, finding the Antivan's presence as intoxicating as a fine wine.

"My thought is this…" He purred as he ran his fingers across the exposed flesh of her arm. "We retire to _your_ tent, and I show you the sort of massage skills that one only learns growing up in an Antivan whorehouse."

Bronwen gasped as Zevran breathed heavily onto her neck. She knew she should have moved away as his deft hands began to travel over her body, but his touch promised to ease the deep longing within her.

A longing that ached and throbbed between her legs with an intensity she had long been trying to ignore…

A longing that had been there, since she first felt _Alistair's_ arms around her...

"Zev…" She tried to look into his glittering amber eyes as she spoke, but the burning hunger she saw within those depths made her throat tighten with erotic dreams of what could be…

"Yes, amora?" He breathed, practically undressing her with his gaze.

"Zev, listen to me." She felt her cheeks burning…almost as much as her loins. "I'm involved with Alistair. I can't just _invite you into my tent_. It…well, it wouldn't be fair."

"Oh but…you mistake my intentions!" Zevran protested, placing a delicate kiss beneath her earlobe. "I have no intention of coming between you and your…puppy dog templar, as it were?"

"So this is all just about a massage then?" Bronwen replied, raising her eyebrows as Zevran then moved to face her, his generous mouth agonisingly moist and tempting.

"Of course…" He sighed as he offered her a seductive smile. "Though if I might ask, should the opportunity to proceed past the massage present itself…?"

Unbidden thoughts of the elf's lean naked body pressing against hers flashed through her mind. Staring into that beautifully sculpted face with those wonderful cheekbones and sweeping facial tattoo, it was almost too hard not to surrender to passion and drown in the waves of desire that were crashing over her body.

Almost…but not quite.

"Zevran, thank you for the offer but I think I'll pass." Bronwen felt somewhat relieved as she finally felt her will reasserting itself over her emotions. "Alistair will be back soon and I'm sure if I have any _tension_, he'll be able to help me work it out."

"Ever the evasive one, hmm?" Zevran folded his arms and studied her seriously. "You're certain that this is what you really want?"

"If you are referring to Alistair, then I'm certain."

"Ah well." The Antivan sighed and shrugged resignedly. "Another time then, maybe? I think there is more to us than just fencing partners…ah look here, your puppy-dog has returned!"

Bronwen span around to see Leliana coming through the trees with Alistair. The bard and the templar had been scouting the road to Denerim and she was relieved to see them return looking concerned but not overly worried.

"Well, goodnight Amora…I mean, my dear Warden." Zevran drew her attention once more, before bowing stiffly and offering her one last lascivious smile.

After that, he walked back to his tent, alone.

* * *

"Bronwen." Alistair sighed, gathering the raven-haired ranger into his arms and holding her tightly. "Go on admit it…you missed me."

"I'm so glad you're back." She murmured into his shoulder, pressing herself against him. "Did you have any problems?"

"No…" He answered, leaning back to look into her anxious face. "There were just a few patrols, but they didn't even bother to challenge me."

Something wasn't right.

Bronwen was unusually tense and Alistair had the definite impression that something was bothering her.

"Look, is everything alright here?" He asked with concern, then he spotted the assassin slinking back to his tent.

"Yes of course." She answered, following his eyes and shaking her head. "I was just…worried about you, that's all."

"You were worried? Really?" There was a half-truth in there, but he also recognised that there was something she wasn't telling him. "That's nice to know…but you do seem a bit preoccupied and I noticed that Zevran was skulking around."

At the mere mention of his name, Bronwen began to blush slightly and it was as if Alistair suddenly had a bitter taste in his mouth.

"It _is_ Zevran isn't it?" His brows creased angrily and this time, he didn't even bother to keep the jealous tone from his voice. "Look, I've seen the way he is around you and I'm not stupid, despite what Morrigan thinks! Believe me, I'm well aware of the fact that he is handsome, older and much more…uh, experienced than me, and I guess if that's what you really want, then please for the Maker's sake just tell me! I won't stand in your way…"

"Oh Alistair, that's not what I want at all." Bronwen sighed exasperatedly and shook her head. "I am a little attracted to Zevran, yes. He's striking, charming and all those other things you said as well, but today when we were training in camp…well, he intimated that he wanted more than just friendship."

"Ah, I see." Alistair felt sick.

Maker curse that damned Antivan, he could have any woman he wanted any woman! So why did it have to be Bronwen, why did it have to be the woman he loved…?

"But I told him, no…" He looked up in surprise to see Bronwen regarding him apprehensively. "Alistair, I told him I wanted you…if...if that's alright?"

"What?" Alistair felt as if his knees would give way as he stared into her honest grey eyes. "You want me….really? Well, that's…that's…Maker's Breath! Of course…I mean, seriously…did you even have to ask…?"

"Good. That's…good." Bronwen smiled and then anxiously chewed her lip. "You know, Alistair, there's something else I w-want you to know….something about the way I feel…oh sod this!"

Alistair was almost yanked off his feet when Bronwen seized the pauldrons covering his shoulders and suddenly pulled him toward her. Her lips crashed into his with a bruising intensity, and he felt his manhood stiffening directly in response to the invasion of her tongue into his mouth. There was such a desperate need in her kisses, and the passion she displayed so openly astounded him…but she was still hiding something. Something deep enough to make her blush and stammer, it was so unlike the confidant woman he knew she was.

When she finally broke from the kiss, her eyes were gleaming wetly and she was flushed with emotion. She seemed to shy away from his direct, questioning gaze and looked at the ground awkwardly.

Whatever words were on her lips, or feelings in her heart, he knew that wouldn't hear them today.

Although deep down, he hoped he knew what they would be.

"So...Denerim." Alistair mused, changing the subject as he took a few deep, shuddering breaths. "Probably best if we take a small party and make discreet enquiries about this Genetivi character."

"I agree completely." Bronwen sighed as she gathered herself. "Maybe just you, myself and one other…Leliana, I think. That way, we should avoid any unwanted attention."

"Sounds like a plan." Alistair felt his own passion beginning to ebb as the seriousness of their mission took precedence. "Just one thing, and maybe this isn't the best time to be thinking about this, but I've something to ask you. Since we're heading into the city soon, I wonder if we might be able to…look someone up?"

"Look Alistair…" Bronwen smiled and reassuringly rested her hand on Alistair's arm. "I'm as keen as you so see that Loghain comes to justice but sneaking into the palace may not be the best idea…"

"No, I know that! That's not what I'm talking about." Alistair frowned thoughtfully as he carefully considered his words. "The thing is…I have a sister, a half-sister. I told you about my mother, right? That she was a servant at Redcliffe Castle? Well, she had a daughter only, I never knew about her and I don't think she knew about me either, they kept my birth a secret after all, but after I became a Grey Warden I did some checking and…well, I found out she's still alive in Denerim!"

"Are you certain?" Bronwen asked, caution adding a wary note to the compassion in her voice.

"Yes, well…fairly. At any rate, she's the only real family I have left, the only family not also mixed up in the whole royal thing anyway and I've just been thinking that maybe it's time I went to see her." He looked at the beautiful ranger with hope in his eyes and prayed that she could understand just how much this meant to him. "With the Blight coming and everything, I don't know if I'll ever get another chance to see her. Maybe I can help her, warn her about the danger, I don't know…"

There was a long pause and then soft lips brushed his skin as Bronwen placed a gentle kiss upon his cheek.

"If it means this much to you, then of course we can try and find her."

"Could we? I'd appreciate that." He felt as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. "If something happened to her and I never went to at least see her, I don't know if I could forgive myself."

"So, do you have any idea where we start?" Bronwen said softly, sliding her arm through Alistair's and leading him toward the camp.

"Her name is Goldanna and I _think_ she remarried but still lives just outside the Alienage. If we're in the area, then…well, it's worth a look."

As they walked back, Alistair sighed happily. Finding Goldanna would be wonderful enough, but having Bronwen at his side…well, that would make the moment just perfect.

* * *

Bronwen sighed as she watched the darkness of night slowly retreating in hues of purple and blue. She had taken last watch in order to find some quiet time on which to reflect on the events of the day. Of everything that had happened lately, the one thing she was sure of was that she was glad to see the back of Denerim.

It had brought both her truest friend and her most beloved, nothing but pain and sorrow.

On the approach road to the city, Leliana had found herself under attack by a group of hired assassins that were certainly much more skilled than the normal mercenaries and thugs they had encountered lately. Both she and Alistair had immediately leapt to their friend's defence, and between the three of them, they quickly dispatched all but one of the assailants.

As Bronwen held her dagger to his throat, the lead assassin had hurriedly revealed that they were in the hire of a woman named Marjolaine, and he was to report back to her at a small run down house just inside the city walls.

Leliana had blanched at that, and after insisting that Bronwen let the assassin go, she had reluctantly confessed that she had been no simple travelling bard when she lived in Orlais. It turned out that this Marjolaine character had taught her the arts of duplicity, seduction and murder, using her budding talents as a spy no less, to further her own ambitions.

All this and more had been done with a whisper and a kiss. Marjolaine was not only Leliana's mentor in secrets and lies, but she had been her lover as well.

With a heavy heart, Leliana had told them how eventually Marjolaine had betrayed her, ruthlessly sacrificing her to hide the fact she was selling Orlesian secrets to other countries. She had deserted Leliana when she had been captured, set up by the very woman she loved and left to be tortured, abused and Maker knows what else before she finally managed to escape to Ferelden and begin her new life, seeking peace in the teachings of the chantry.

And now Marjolaine was back, the time to confront her was upon Leliana.

Bronwen and Alistair swore to her, that she would not stand alone.

When they finally entered Denerim and located the house, dealing with Marjolaine had been especially hard on the young bard. Though the master spy had betrayed Leliana and broken her heart, it was obvious that she still had feelings for her and the ensuing battle inflicted wounds that only time could heal.

It had been such a desperate struggle, with Alistair taking on a pair of Qunari bodyguards while Leliana dealt with Marjolaine. Bronwen had been left to deal with a pair of mercenary mages and for a time, the air was filled with deadly arcane power as they tried to destroy her with flame and spirit.

However the cramped quarters leant themselves more to close combat, and Bronwen quickly drew her Dar'Missan and dagger and advanced on the pair. With their mana spent, and no room in which to retreat, the two magic users had drawn their own short-swords, but their skills with a blade were not match for her own and soon they both lay dead at her feet.

After it was all over, Leliana had looked pale and withdrawn. Bronwen tried to offer her words of comfort, but nothing she said seemed adequate enough to ease her suffering. Leliana had simply smiled sadly and hugged her, thanking her for her concern and saying that she needed time to think.

As they left the dwelling, Bronwen sincerely hoped she would be all right

Following directions given to them by the Lady Isolde, they next called at the house of Brother Genitivi in the hope that they could at least establish the whereabouts of the Urn of Sacred Ashes. What they actually discovered was that the old scholar had disappeared and his assistant had been murdered by an imposter. They dealt swiftly with the interloper and fortunately, were able to trace Genitivi's last known movements to a village called Haven in the Frostback Mountains.

At least they had a trail to follow, and Haven wasn't too far from the dwarven city of Orzammar. Once again Bronwen found herself in the position of two birds and one stone.

But then again, that hadn't worked out terribly well last time, had it…?

Then came the final straw.

Leaving Leliana to purchase some supplies…and mostly to have a little space to herself, Alistair had led Bronwen to the house that he believed Goldanna lived in. There had been a couple of grubby children playing outside when they entered the dwelling and the first thing to assail them was the mouldy smell of damp washing and an overriding sense of poverty.

Bronwen had queried if they were at the right place when Goldanna herself made an appearance.

She didn't look much like Alistair and there was a hardness to her features that was completely absent in the soft warmth of her brother. Naturally, Alistair had been overjoyed to meet her but the look on her face when he told her who he was made Bronwen's lip curl in disgust.

The woman was a stony-faced, gold digging bitch!

That much was evident after listening to only minutes of conversation between them. Goldanna had outright rejected any notion of a pleasant family reunion and had instead bemoaned her _terrible life_, insisting that somehow it was Alistair's fault for being born. Alistair tried and tried to talk to her, desperate for some measure of connection but it came to nothing.

It came to a point where Bronwen felt she had to intervene, trying to get the miserable wench to see that instead of being alone in the world she now had a brother she could rely on, but Goldanna had instead spoke to her as if she was a piece of dog shit.

At this, Alistair's illusions were finally shattered and he instantly rebuked his sister. This provoked a fresh rush of insults, and unwilling to hear any more vitriol hurled at the templar, Bronwen escorted him from the house. They had spoken briefly once they were outside, and she could tell he was deeply hurt.

When Leliana returned with a bag full of provisions, she had looked at Alistair with a questioning look on her face but Bronwen had simply shook her head and suggested they return to camp as soon as possible.

Once the evening meal had been eaten, Alistair had accepted Sten's invitation to train with him. It seemed to Bronwen that the templar needed to work out some anger and frustration, and seeing the look on his face as he clashed swords with the big Qunari only confirmed her suspicions.

Zevran had barely spoken to her since their earlier incident, and he seemed more intent on getting himself killed by plaguing Morrigan as she tried to study the black grimoire Bronwen had found when they'd liberated Kinloch Hold. Eventually, the beautiful shapeshifter had gotten so sick of his attentions that she'd threatened to turn his penis into glass and kick him hard unless he left her alone!

Trust her to be the only woman to ever find Zevran's vulnerable spot…

As for Bronwen, she'd spent the evening talking to Leliana with Wynne. She was glad the bard had eventually decided to talk about her feelings, as confronting Marjolaine like that must have torn her heart in two. It had certainly been a trial of faith for Leliana if nothing else, but she had come out the other side and remained the caring, spiritual person she had been when they first met.

As the night drew on everyone had drifted off to their respective tents including Bronwen. She thought of going to see Alistair but as much as she cared, she knew he needed time and when he was ready, he would come to her.

So, she had spent a restless night, tossing and turning until Sten came to rouse her for her watch, and it was only now, when she was sat gazing up into the slowly brightening sky that she finally felt a sense of peace and calm.

"Bronwen…?" Alistair's voice called to her softly and she turned to see him emerging from his tent. "I…I was waiting until everyone was asleep, and I just wondered if you wouldn't mind talking for a bit?"

Despite the fact that his dusky blonde hair was unkempt and his shirt was creased and rumpled, somehow the templar still managed to look as handsome as ever.

"Of course." She said, gesturing to a spot on the ground and smiled affectionately. "What's on your mind Alistair?"

"Well…you actually." He sighed, sliding down next to her. "I've been thinking about you ever since we left Goldanna's house. I just wanted to thank you for being there, and for talking me down."

"You don't have to thank me for that." Bronwen said, taking his large hand in her own and running her fingers over the many scars he'd received over the years. "That woman obviously didn't give a fig for anyone but herself, but not everyone is like that. There are people here who _genuinely_ care for you, and I confess that one of them is sat here right now…"

She leaned in close to press her lips against his, and found the kiss willingly returned. Very tenderly he reached up to cup her face in his hands and at his touch, Bronwen felt her blood stirring even as his taste filled her mouth.

"I'm glad to hear you say that." Alistair whispered, eventually pulling away from her and reaching into a pouch attached to his belt. "It's one of the reasons I wanted you to have a look at this…"

With a shy smile, he held up a beautiful dried flower.

"Is…is that a rose?" Bronwen murmured, admiring the scarlet petals and inhaling the fragrant scent that still clung to the bloom.

Alistair nodded and smiled.

"I picked it in Lothering…" He began, contemplating its shape and form. "I remember thinking _how could something so beautiful exist in a place with so much despair and ugliness? _I probably should have left it alone, but I couldn't. The darkspawn were coming and their taint would just have destroyed it, so I've had it ever since."

"You try to see the best in everything." Bronwen said with a smile as she too considered the flower. "I think it's why I admire you so much. I guess it must have really meant something to you to keep it for so long. So what are you going to do with it?"

"Well, I thought that I might…give it to you, actually." His cheeks reddened slightly as he met her eyes. "In a lot of ways…I think the same thing when I look at you. I was just thinking, here I am doing all this complaining and you haven't exactly been having a good time of it yourself. You've had none of the good experiences of being a Grey Warden since your Joining…not a word of thanks or congratulations, it's all been death and fighting and tragedy."

"Alistair that's…I don't know what to say…" Bronwen gasped as she felt a lump burning in her throat. "Thank you. I'll treasure it always."

"I just thought maybe I could say something." Alistair's strong fingers cupped her chin and lifted her face toward his. "Tell you what a rare and wonderful thing you are to find amidst all this…darkness. To tell you…"

He paused, his warm hazel eyes captivating her completely.

"To tell you, that I love you." He suddenly grinned sheepishly and looked to the ground.

"Alistair…" She breathed, elated and yet terrified to admit that she felt the same way. "I…Maker…hearing you say that, it's just so…wonderful."

"I'm glad." He murmured, leaning in closer to her waiting lips. "Now, if we could move right on past this awkward, embarrassing stage and get right to the steamy bits, I'd appreciate it…"

Bronwen felt as if the rest of Thedas ceased to exist as Alistair kissed her with more confidence than she had ever known. It was so unlike the nervous explorations of their earliest moments together, and she gasped with surprise as he gently pushed her to the ground and lay above her, his weight pressing down upon her body. Instinctively she twined her legs around his, even as his lips crashed hungrily against her own. His tongue darted into her mouth, teasing and tempting her with his taste, as he drew her into an intimate battle of wills with each seeking to drown the other in an overwhelming sea of emotion and increasing desire.

These were certainly not the affectionate kisses of a naïve chantry boy.

Bronwen moaned softly as he turned his attention from her lips, to her throat. She felt strangely vulnerable as he nuzzled and nipped at the sensitive skin there, causing waves of almost electric sensation to travel down the length of her body, before gathering at her apex to create a deep and exquisitely powerful ache. The most natural reaction was to rub against his solid thigh, trying to ease her want by pleasuring herself as best she could, but then she found him reciprocating by pressing his hips against hers and grinding his increasingly aroused manhood against her abdomen…

Slowly, she slid her hands across the broad expanse of his back, enjoying the feel of every muscular contour beneath the softness of his shirt. As she reached the waist of his britches, she tracked the path of the belt that held them in place, to find the solid buckle that clasped them in place below his navel. There was a sharp intake of breath as she unfastened the buckle and began to pull out the laces that confined his length, but unlike last time, he made no move to stop her. Instead he stroked his own hand along the soft deer-skin covering her thigh, until he found the place where her own leggings were fastened and began to loosen them.

There was a moment's hesitation, the briefest of pauses in the passionate kisses they shared, before Alistair gently eased his fingers beneath both her leggings and the soft cotton small-clothes below. Though his movements were restricted by the tightness of the soft hide, he carefully moved his hand down over the gentle bump of her abdomen until she felt him brush against the hair that covered her most intimate of places. Slowly and deliberately now, he pushed on through the short curls until his fingertip slipped down between the plump petals of her own feminine flower, toward the moist, wet centre of her being. A plaintive cry escaped her lips as he first passed, then settled over the special little bundle of nerves that at the moment seemed to be controlling her entire body. As he tenderly pressed and rubbed at her sensitive pearl, Bronwen's breathing became heavy and desperate, and he smothered her demanding mewls with his kisses, taking her breath away and giving her his love in return.

Then it was Alistair's turn to groan.

Solid, thickness filled her hand as Bronwen finally drew out his member, and he gasped involuntarily as she began to slide the soft, outer skin of his shaft back and forth along his impressive length. Her thumb touched upon his velvet hood as she gently worked him, spreading the silken dew of his arousal over his end as he thrust into her hand. He became even harder in her grip, a heated pulse running from his root to his tip as she hastened her rhythm in order to increase his pleasure.

Now they moved together almost as one, and as Bronwen sensed the onset of her impending release, she grasped Alistair even more firmly, determined to take him with her when she toppled over the edge. Sensing the closeness of her moment, the templar suddenly slipped a long, thick finger inside her core, quickly followed by a second.

This time, even the deepest of his kisses could not prevent her from calling his name.

A few seconds more and she found herself burying her cries into his shoulder, as the walls of her melting core contracted madly around his merciful fingers. Each wave of orgasm seemed to steal all the strength from her limbs, and her body shook with the thunderous passion of it all as she felt the creamy issue of her release soaking into her loins.

Above her, she was aware of Alistair tensing rigidly as he suddenly withdrew his slickened fingers from her body, only to wrap them around her own as she struggled to maintain her grip on his shaft. Then with a stifled cry, he jerked back hard as the milky fluid of climax erupted from his throbbing manhood, bringing his orgasm to a shuddering end.

With a deeply satisfied groan, Alistair gently lowered himself back to the comfort of her body and kissed her deeply. Where before his kisses had burned with the intense heat of Summer passion, they now seemed as cooling and calming as a Spring breeze, and Bronwen was content to relax in his arms, simply enjoying the way it felt to have shared such a wonderfully intimate moment with him.

"Alistair?" She murmured softly after a few minutes.

"Mmm…" He replied, sounding dreamy and distant.

"Alistair, I hate to be the practical one but…" Bronwen grinned lopsidedly as he struggled to focus. "Your shirt…it's sort of covered in, uh…well, you know."

"Oh Maker." He muttered as he risked a glance between their bodies. "It's the last, wait, _was_ the last clean one I had."

He blushed furiously as he looked over to the tents.

"Think I can get this washed and dried before the others wake up?"

"Well, I could wash it for you in the river." Bronwen offered, then thought about her own current state. "I think I really need to bathe anyway, if you don't mind finishing my watch?"

"I could bathe with you." He purred. "After all, who knows what else we could get up to?"

He didn't sound as confident as he had _felt_ earlier, and there was more than a touch of bravado in his voice.

"Sounds good to me." She teased, a mischievous smile spreading across her lips. "You'd better get those clothes off then!"

"Ah…ha ha…um…bluff called!" Alistair shyly rolled off her and helped her to her feet, before offering her one of the sweetest most nervous smiles she had ever seen.

"Don't worry." She said, grinning as she reached for the hemline of his shirt. "We have plenty of time to _bathe_…amongst other things."

"Damn, she saw right through me." Alistair laughed softly as he allowed her to lift the shirt over his head. "Just so you know, I'll be standing over here until the blushing stops…just to be…safe! You know how it is."

She couldn't help but laugh herself as she clasped the shirt in her hands and set off toward the river. Risking a glance over her shoulder, she saw that Wynne was emerging from her tent just as Alistair was taking a seat by the fire. The old mage often liked to rise with the sun and this morning was obviously no exception. Just what she would make of Alistair sitting there without his shirt on, and Bronwen taking an early morning dip when she was still supposed to be on watch was anybody's guess.

Still, as she saw Alistair's chest gleaming in the light of the sun, Bronwen reckoned it was all worth it.


	6. Fool for Love

FOOL FOR LOVE

"Bleurghhhhhhh!" The belch echoed loudly around the vaulted ceiling of the dwarven dining hall and Oghren beamed with drunken satisfaction. "Ya see Warden? That's how ya truly appreciate fine dwarven ale!"

"Right, right I see…" Alistair rolled his eyes. "Is this before or after you've farted your way through _Men of Orzammar, Grab your Chopper_?"

"Always after!" The fierce, red-headed dwarf answered with a grand sweep of his arm that sent several tankards of ale flying across the table. "Anything else would be disrespectful!"

"By the Old Gods, Bronwen, do we have to take him with us?" Morrigan scowled darkly as she watched Oghren fall off his chair. "It's bad enough we have to put up with that blasted Antivan! Another lecherous short-arse is far from my idea of the perfect travelling companion!"

"Lecherous! I can show you lecherous! C'mere you sexy minx!"

The look on Morrigan's face was priceless as Oghren climbed into the witch's lap and attempted to plant a beer soaked kiss onto her taught, pouting lips. Her skin turned perfectly pallid before flushing dark angry red and then she jumped to her feet, roughly depositing the drunken dwarf onto the cold stone floor.

"Right! That's it!" She snarled, shaking herself like a dog. "I can't stand any more of…of…"

Morrigan gestured emphatically at the grinning dwarf.

"Of _that_!"

She glared imperiously at both Bronwen and Alistair before storming toward the archway leading out of the hall. "I'm going to bed now, _alone_, and I don't want to be disturbed unless the bloody Archdemon himself decides to personally come calling and wants to discuss how best to roast a dwarf! Am I clear on that?"

"Ooh…did it suddenly get chilly in here or is it just me?" Alistair joked as she left, raising his eyebrows as he too climbed to his feet and began pacing to stretch his legs.

"Aw, she's just playing hard to get…" Oghren rumbled, his eyelids heavy as he happily watched Morrigan's departing hips swaying from side to side. "One night with me and she'll be hooked I tell ya. It was just like that with Branka, always wanting me to come chasing after her…Branka…oh sod…"

The dwarf's face dropped at the mention of his wife's name and Bronwen felt for him as she saw the grief that threatened to spill forth from the jovial warrior.

"Oghren…Oghren, are you alright?" She rested her hand on his shoulder and smiled comfortingly as his booze addled eyes met hers.

"Yeah, I guess." He said softly. "It's just that Branka was…was…my life, my reason for getting up in the morning. Why did she do it Warden? Why did she do that to me…to all those people? Was it really all about the sodding Anvil? All for that just for a hunk of metal that oughtta never been created in the first place?"

"Obsession is a dangerous thing." Bronwen answered truthfully, seeing the genuine pain in Oghren's face. "It eats people up inside and blinds them to the consequences of their actions. Branka was willing to sacrifice everything to get her hands on the Anvil of the Void…just like you were willing to sacrifice your own life to help us ensure that it was finally destroyed. I guess in the end, it all comes down to doing what you believe is right."

She smiled fondly and planted a kiss squarely on the dwarf's ruddy cheek.

"Shit, Warden…I know all that!" Oghren snorted, the mischievous glint back in his eyes as he snatched another tankard from the table. "It's just that I'm such a perfect specimen of manhood! How could she resist me?"

After being encased in stiff Dalish leather for the best part of a week, Bronwen had chosen to wear a dress to dinner. She'd picked it up from one of the traders topside, and she knew that Alistair appreciated the way it clung to her soft curves.

From the way Oghren was staring unashamedly at her chest, she guessed he wasn't the only one!

"Come to think of it…" He began licking his lips and winking suggestively. "You're not such a bad looking woman yourself, y'know? And the way they look…I mean, the way _you_ look in that pretty dress…well, how's about you and me…?"

"And that's quite enough of that." Alistair stated flatly, as he came to stand behind Bronwen's chair. "This lady is very much spoken for, and I think perhaps it's time we should turn in. Don't you, my dear?"

"Oh hehehe!" Oghren chuckled and elbowed the tall Templar in the ribs. "Didn't mean to be stepping on your toes there lad! Planning to pop your nug into her burrow, huh?"

"What?" Alistair flushed guiltily and looked apologetically at Bronwen. "No…no, that's not what I meant. I was just saying we should go straight to bed!"

"And here I thought all you Templars were as cold as stone!" The dwarf laughed. "Gotta love a man who knows what he wants!"

"If you don't mind, I don't actually want her _in_ bed…no, wait…that sounded bad." Alistair grimaced. "I mean I do want her in bed, a lot as it happens, but…that's not what I was saying just now…"

"Why Alistair!" Bronwen gasped in mock outrage, jumping to her feet. "Just what exactly _were_ you saying?"

"I…um…Oh Andraste's Holy Arse!" Alistair's brows creased as his skin turned crimson. "Can we just start this conversation again or even go back into the Deep Roads and kill some more darkspawn? That was easier than trying to dig myself out of this hole, right? Am I the only one that thinks that?"

"Listen kid, you don't have to say another word." Oghren offered Alistair what Bronwen could only assume was his best attempt at a fatherly look. "I'll just get outta your hair and leave you two alone. When the urge is upon you…"

With a final meaningful dig in Alistair's ribs, Oghren grinned broadly and swayed out of the dining hall, but not before belching loudly and flashing them a knowing wink as he closed the heavy double-doors behind him.

"Well that was… not embarrassing at all!" Alistair frowned awkwardly then flopped back down into one of the great ironwood dining chairs. "Now I'm getting romantic advice from a drunken dwarf!"

"Oh I don't know if I would consider it _romantic_ _advice_ as such." Bronwen chuckled, leaning back against the table and enjoying the sight of the handsome Templar in his smart tunic and britches, one leg casually thrown over the arm of the chair. "More sort of…carnal assistance I think!"

"Oh please!" Alistair raised his eyebrow and threw her an amused look. "Never again do I want to hear the name _Oghren_ associated with the word _carnal_! I get the shivers just thinking about it!"

"Oh I don't know." Bronwen chewed her lip thoughtfully. "You know, for a dwarf he's really not that bad? Maybe if he was a few inches taller…"

"Hey, hey! Tall good-looking templar right here!" Alistair pouted his lips to hide the cheeky smile that was creeping across his face. "Of course, if you're into the shorter fellow, I'm sure I can set you up…"

"Don't you dare!" Bronwen warned. "Just one more word from you on the subject, Alistair Theirin and I'll creep into you room and swap all your hair cream for glue!"

"Oh would you now?" Alistair rolled from his chair and stalked toward her. "The thing is, I know the way all you roguey, sneaky-types like to operate, and all I have to do to thwart your nefarious plan is to reduce you to such a pitiable state that you can't help but give yourself away."

"And just how would you do that?" Bronwen asked, hoping the answer involved some degree of nakedness…

"Well…there's this for a start!"

A mischievous grin broke out over his face as he reached for Bronwen's waist, span her round and began to tickle her mercilessly. She writhed joyfully in his grasp as he used his superior strength to hold her in place, his fingers dancing over her ribcage causing her to roar with laughter as she struggled half-heartedly in his embrace.

"See, this is where all that templar training comes in handy!" He laughed. "Have you any idea how much discipline and dedication it takes to be _this_ annoying?"

Fairly soon they were both laughing so much that they fell back against the table, the former Templar holding Bronwen back against his chest as she struggled for breath. When she finally raised her head over her shoulder to look into his mirthful hazel eyes, Alistair smiled and placed a tender kiss upon her lips before regarding her intently.

"You know, it's the times like this that make me wonder…all this time we've spent together, the tragedy, the brushes with death, the constant battles with the whole Blight looming over us..." He sighed softly and stroked an ebony stand of hair back from her face. "Will you miss it once it's all over?"

"I don't know, some of it, I suppose." Bronwen pulled his arms around her waist and leaned against him. "Although if it all stopped tomorrow, just ended suddenly, the one thing that I would really miss, and I mean _really_ _miss_, is you."

Her stomach began to knot as she realised Alistair was shaking.

"I know it might sound strange…" He began, his voice heavy with emotion. "But considering we haven't known each other for very long, I've come to love you a great deal. I think maybe it's because we've gone through so much together, I don't know…or maybe I'm imagining it…maybe I'm fooling myself."

His hand reached up to cup her chin and he gently tilted her face to his.

"Am I? Fooling myself…? Or do you think you might ever feel the same way about me?"

"Alistair, don't you know? Of course I care about you too…" Tears began to brim in Bronwen's eyes as her heart finally opened and she turned to press her chest against his. "You mean so much to me, Alistair Theirin. So much that I doubt the Maker himself couldn't tear me from your side."

"Really?" There were tears in his own eyes. "Bronwen…I…I…"

She was surprised by the sudden ferocity of his kisses as he knotted his fingers in her hair and crashed his lips against hers. The way he sought to claim her mouth, her body, her heart, left her trembling and weak as his strong arms encircled her and physically lifted her onto the tabletop.

With a breathy moan, he positioned himself between her legs and renewed his assault on her lips, while exploring every contour of her body with his wandering hands. For her part, Browen slipped her own hands beneath the hem of his shirt and revelled in the secret intimacy that came from touching his bare skin beneath the clothes he wore. His well-muscled back was both soft and hard at the same time, and a symphony of muscle and movement as he flexed and moved while caressing her in return.

"Alistair…" She gasped, snatching for words in between his relentless kisses. "Alistair…maybe…maybe going to bed…was not such…such a bad idea…after all…"

"Hmm?"

She could felt his hardness, long and solid against her core as he leaned against her and if not for the clothes they wore, she was sure that he would have been inside her. Bronwen gasped as the very thought of it brought slick wetness to her loins, and an ache deep within.

"Alistair…" She breathed, wrapping her legs about his hips and pulling him closer. "Don't you think we should take this elsewhere…?"

"I'd like to…but we shouldn't."

"You sure?" She pressed against him and heard him groan in response. "I promise to be gentle."

"Bronwen…I…Maker…no, we really shouldn't."

Though his voice was coarse with desire, the templar discipline was again evident in the way he extracted himself from her writhing limbs.

"Listen, I would love _nothing_ more than to…to join you in your bed." He admitted with an awkward sigh, fidgeting as he spoke. "And I know most men would probably leap at the chance to be with you, but I just don't know if I'm ready for that…not yet."

Bronwen wasn't sure if she was more hurt, or frustrated by the way he stiffly stepped back and lifted her down from the table. All the heat and passion that had been there a moment ago seemed to have been lost in an instant, and he must have seen the confused look on her face as he suddenly clasped her hands between his and tenderly kissed her fingers.

"It's just such a big step." He groaned, colouring as he spoke. "And I guess that must make me sound like an idiot. I mean, turning down an incredible woman like you…I'd have to be."

"Why?" Bronwen asked and couldn't help but notice that he looked genuinely hurt by her question. "Is it me?"

"No, of course not." He shook his head emphatically and brushed his fingertips against her cheek. "It's just that, and I know I must sound like a fool, but you know that I've never gone that far with anyone. I was quite sheltered after all, and I love you so much…"

Bronwen watched as he suddenly turned from her and threw his hands into the air.

"Whenever I think of this, I feel like a bumbling idiot!" He exclaimed loudly, embarrassment adding rough tones to his voice. "I just wish I could be better at this! I want it to be right, and I want it to be perfect!"

"It doesn't have to be perfect…" Bronwen slid off the table and wrapped her arms about his waist, pressing her cheek against his back. "But I do understand. I'm sorry, Alistair. There's no rush. We can do this whenever you're ready."

She felt him slump in her embrace as if defeated, but then he seemed to gather himself and take strength from her touch.

"Thank you." He said softly as he turned to look at her. "I guess I was just raised not to take this sort for thing lightly. I hope it hasn't...put you off?"

"Not at all." Bronwen sighed as she lightly stroked the side of his face. "I can see why you want to wait, and I'll be here when you think the time is right."

"You're so wonderful, you know that?" Alistair looked visibly relieved and just so damn sweet. "So now that I've handled that with my usual brilliance and charm, I suppose we _should_ go to our rooms…and maybe take a cold bath?"

"Well that's one solution." Bronwen answered with a smile and slipped her hand into his as they walked toward the exit. "I could ask Morrigan to freeze the water for you?"

"That wouldn't be such a bad idea, except for the fact I think she try and freeze…_other things_ as well, just to make a point!"

"You really think Morrigan would try to freeze your _other things_?"

"Chilling thought isn't it?"

"_Chilling_…did you just make a joke?"

"Um, apparently not."

"Alistair, that was awful."

"Left you a bit cold, has it?"

"Oh stop."

"Enough to freeze the cockles of your heart?"

"I mean it."

"_Ice_ should probably stop now, right?"

"Alistair…"

"Yes?"

"Goodnight."

* * *

Though the ceilings were low in Orzammar, the rooms in the Royal Palace were actually quite cosy and Bronwen let out a heavy sigh as she closed the door behind her.

She was all too conscious of the fact that her body still longed for Alistair's touch and she stretched with a groan, trying to ease the ache and relax in the soft glow of the hearthfire. She had to hand it to the dwarves, they certainly knew how to build things. In the corner of the room was a great, stone bath that had some new-fangled invention attached to it that delivered hot water right into the tub. Apparently it was heated from beneath by the constant lava flows that ran directly below the city, not that Bronwen cared too much for the details of such things. Right now, all she wanted was a long soak and a restful night free of the tormenting thoughts she was currently having about Alistair Theirin and his soft, delicious lips and hard, muscled body…

With a sigh, she turned on the strange water pump and then began to unravel her hair from the loose braid she wore, shaking it out to untangle the long, raven locks. After that, she perched on the end of the unexpectedly comfortable bed and reached behind to unlace her bodice…

"Well I was just going to suggest a drink, my dear Warden. But if you insist we bathe together first, I shall certainly not object…"

"Zevran!" Bronwen jumped up and span around to see the Antivan assassin leaning casually in the doorway with a bottle in one hand and two glasses in the other.

"Yes, it is I!" He exclaimed with a grin and without waiting for any invitation, walked directly into her room, closing the door behind him with his foot. "So should we drink first then bathe, or bathe first then drink? I myself believe in indulging all things as often as I can, so maybe we can drink _and_ bathe…leaving us time for other pleasures afterwards, no?"

She simply stared at him in shock as he set down the glasses next to the bottle and began to pull off his boots.

"But you're not undressing now?" He paused and then winked at her. "Ahh, then instead you do wish to drink first. I see."

"What…no…I don't wish to drink first…." She rushed to turn off the water and then turned back only to find Zevran gathering her up into his arms.

"Hmmm…" He purred, grinding against her in the most lascivious way. "So straight to bed it is! You know I do love a woman who knows what she wants."

"What I…wait…umph!"

Any further protests were smothered as Zevran placed his lips against hers and kissed her in the most sensuous way she had ever known. Maker's breath! Alistair's rich kisses had always stirred her blood, but this…this was something…something else entirely…

It took more than a few moments to realise that she was not only returning his kiss, but also feeling something in her heart that disturbed her deeply.

"Zevran, please…" She whispered, placing hands against his chest and firmly pushing him away. "Please don't…don't do that again."

"Was it so unpleasant?" He asked, arching the slender, curved brows over his burning amber eyes. "I thought it rather delightful myself, and you did not seem to mind…"

"Please." Shame and uncertainty gave her tone a plaintive edge and she turned aside from him, feeling the colour rising in her cheeks. "Please understand that I can't do this. Not to Alistair…"

"Warden…" His voice was tinged with concern and he gently laid his hand upon her arm. "Bronwen, I did not mean to cause you this distress. I just thought that since you returned to your room alone, that you and he…"

"We're fine." Bronwen interrupted, now feeling angry that there were tears beginning to spill from the corner of her eyes. "Just because he's not here, doesn't mean that we're not together. There's more to life than a quick fuck every now and then you know!"

"Then this is a true affair of the heart between you two?" Zevran sighed and gently withdrew his hand. "Forgive me Warden. My expertise lies in affairs of a different kind and I did not realise…"

"No, you did realise but you just didn't care!" Bronwen span around to accuse him as the tears began to fall. "You don't care about anybody other than yourself, and as for Alistair…Alistair has told me that he loves me and I…I care for him so much it hurts."

"So I see." Zevran replied with a thoughtful expression on his face. "And the tears I see in your eyes, are they because you hurt so for him, or because you do not actually return his love?"

The next thing she saw was Zevran reeling back from the resounding slap she had aimed at his face.

"Oh Zev…Zev I'm so sorry..."

The Antivan rubbed tenderly at his cheek and waved her away when she started toward him. "No, no…it is alright. I have had much worse in my time to be certain, and not always from so beautiful a lady as yourself."

"Still, I shouldn't have and I…I…"

The apology was choked off in her throat as a shuddering sob wracked her body, and Bronwen found herself on the floor with Zevran cradling her as she wept. For a while, the normally talkative Antivan said nothing and was content just to hold her in his arms as she rocked from side to side, crying into his soft, leather shirt. Then eventually he wiped his thumbs across her cheeks and looked deeply into her reddened, tearful grey eyes.

"Bronwen, mi Amora." He said softly, stroking her hair and with the most tender expression on her face. "When I look at you, I see a beautiful, strong woman who has suffered so much in recent times, but risen above it all to become a legendary Grey Warden, capable of not only of defeating the blight, but of doing anything that she puts her mind to.

I also see a woman who is capable of deep, deep feeling, and much understanding, a woman who is so caring and so sensual, a woman whom any man would willingly give his life for. All of this I see, and so does your Chantry boy, I am sure of it. And how any man not help but love you?"

He surprised her then by kissing her gently on the forehead, placing his hands beneath her shoulders and lifting her to her feet.

"However when you speak of Alistair, I do not sense those same feelings within you. You talk to me honestly of his handsomeness, his goodness, his bravery and his heart, but do you really love him, Bronwen? Truly, deeply?"

"Not yet." She answered truthfully. "But I _do_ care for him, and I could easily love him in time. Alistair is…he's everything to me, and I know that my parents would have loved him too. He is a wonderful man."

"Wonderful perhaps." Zevran sighed, holding her once more before stepping back and looking intently into her eyes. "But is he the right man?"

She dropped her gaze once more, unwilling to let the elf see the doubt in her eyes.

"All I would say to you is that you be sure, Bronwen Cousland. I know you are a passionate woman, and I know that when you love, you will do so with all your soul. But contrary to what you think, I am a man who cares and I would not see you make the wrong decision."

There was a question in his tone, almost a challenge to his words and Bronwen finally found the strength to face the handsome elf.

"I'm not." She said with more certainty than she felt. "Alistair makes me happy, and I believe I can make him happy. Everything we have been through together, everything we've done, how could it not be right between us. I believe we were meant to be together."

A look of pain flashed across Zevran's face, but it was hidden in an instant, replaced instead by a warm, caring, smile.

"Then as your friend, I wish you both well, and I hope that you both find what you are looking for. Naturally I will still be unable to help myself from staring at you, and longing to see those delightful hidden parts that only your boy-templar gets to see, but all this goes without saying, no?"

"Obviously." Bronwen answered with shake of her head, smiling at Zevran's open honesty despite her melancholy. "I doubt there is anything I could do to stop you anyway?"

"And you would be correct." He flashed her one last, bright grin and then opened the door. "So then this is good night, and I will leave you to your bath. Although I wonder, later when are bathing…tell me, will you be thinking of your templar, touching yourself in ways I can only dream about? If so, could you could just give me the intimate details before I go…"

"Zevran!"

"Alright Amora, I'm going!" He gave her a wink, and as he pulled the door behind him. "Hmm, I wonder if that dwarven lass is still in the tavern. She had the most marvellous pair of…bracers…"

When the door finally closed, Bronwen let out a deep breath and found to her discomfiture that she was shaking. Vigorously rubbing her arms in spite of the warmth from the fireplace, she returned to bath and resumed running the hot water, before peeling off her clothes and settling into the steaming tub.

The water felt good as it soothed the tension from her limbs, but when she closed her eyes, visions of the elf's dancing smile refused to leave the intimate corner of her mind that she usually reserved for Alistair alone.

Zevran's words must have shaken her more than she cared to admit.

But ultimately, he had to be wrong.

Alistair Theirin was the only man for her, and when she finally managed to climb into bed, drifting off into a restful sleep, she was _almost_ entirely convinced of that.

* * *

Every bone in his body ached. Never…_never_ in an age had Alistair expected to ever fight a High Dragon and live!

Especially not Andraste…

Well alright, technically it wasn't Andraste but if the dragon had another name, then she hadn't told the misguided Reavers of Haven.

Maybe she thought they would stop bringing her cows to eat if they found out her name was Beryl, Gwendolyn or something like that…

Anyway from the moment they'd got into that bloody village, things had gone awry. Male priests, icy caverns and ancient ruins, even finding poor old Brother Genitivi hobbled like an animal in the Chantry storehouse!

Nothing about Haven had been right.

Then again, there hadn't been much right about the ruined temple in the mountain either. Reavers, bloodmages, dragons, all involved with the Cult of _Andraste_ …it had all been just so surreal. Those poor deluded sods were so wrapped up in their beliefs, so convinced that the high-dragon was the Bride of the Maker herself, that they were willing to fight to the death rather than let Bronwen have access to the inner sanctum that contained the Urn of Ashes. It was all just such a waste, but there was no other way. After countless battles, and one particularly nasty confrontation with the Revered Father of the Cult, a madman named Kolgrim, they finally reached the heart of the temple and had entered the Gauntlet.

The Gauntlet had turned out to be a series of trials and tests that had been put to them by the ancient spirit of a noble Guardian, who in life had been a disciple of the real Andraste!

Wow…seriously, wow!

Sure, he'd always been a believer, but after meeting the Guardian and all the others spirits within that holy place …well, now he was even more convinced!

When Bronwen had stood before the Sacred Urn and the Ashes within, in truth she'd been less impressed, even going so far as to joke with Zevran about the Urn being a 'nice vase'. Alistair figured it must be strange for her being such a confirmed non-believer, and despite after everything they had seen and heard, both her and Morrigan had looked on the Urn as more of a magical relic than an object of spiritual veneration. Still, it had all been an _amazing_ experience for all of them…up until the point the High Dragon took an interest.

Just what the Maker was thinking when he came up with Dragons was anybody's guess, and this one had been a nightmare. It had swooped down from the mountains and fell upon them in the snow-filled pass as they made their way back to Haven, and that's when all hells had broken loose.

Sten, Oghren and himself had immediately faced the beast, prepared to bear the brunt of its savage attacks as it sought to end their lives with more dedication than a Templar novice! Zevran had manoeuvred himself behind the thing, slashing viciously at its hind legs as Leliana sought to damage its wings with her arrows, preventing it from taking off and dropping down on them from above. Morrigan and Wynne rained down so many spells on the creature, that the very air around them became charged with the static burn of magic. As for Bronwen, she summoned her great wolf from the beyond and then she and Shadow charged into the fray, he taking considerable bites out of its flanks, while Bronwen joined Zevran, using her twin blades to attack from the rear.

Bit by bit, piece by piece, together they finally brought the great beast down.

Bronwen had been strangely sad for a while after, and was quietly contemplative all the way back to Haven. She said later that it was because it seemed such a shame to see such an ancient dragon felled in such a manner, as any creature that had lived for so long probably had seen and experienced things that the rest of them would never know. She seemed to feel guilty about the death of the dragon.

He could only hope she wouldn't feel that way about the Archdemon…

Altogether it had been somewhat of an experience to say the least, and for the warriors in the party, it had also given them a real feeling of being brothers-in-arms. Sten, Oghren and Alistair now shared a bond that couldn't be broken.

They had slain a High Dragon!

Oh sure, Bronwen, Leliana, Morrigan, Wynne and Shadow probably helped…and Zevran of course.

Ah yes…Zevran.

The assassin was just ahead chatting animatedly with Bronwen, and Alistair tried not to let the bronzed elf get to him, but sometimes he really wished the bastard would just piss off back to Antiva and leave them both alone!

It was jealousy of course, pure jealousy and deep in his heart he knew that Bronwen would never hurt him by taking up with the silver-tongued Antivan, but the way he was so flirtatious and so bloody forward, frankly it just got under his skin. The mere fact that he'd tried to bed the love of his life despite knowing full well that she was involved with another man was just…

Just…

Just downright disrespectful!

Then again, since when had Zevran ever shown anybody any respect? If he couldn't kill it, play with it or sleep with it, he wasn't interested. He was so damned thick-skinned that any genuine feelings he may have had seemed incapable of rising to the surface, and as for understanding just what it was like to love someone so deeply that they were a part of your soul, he probably had no idea at all…

"Well now Alistair, I can feel the heat from your eyes boring holes into my head!" The Antivan's lilting voice was ripe with amusement. "Either you have finally realised I am the man of your dreams or there is something else going on within that fine blonde head of yours?"

"What?" Alistair bit back as the elf fell into step beside him. "I wasn't looking at you like that! I mean, I was looking at you…"

"Ah, I knew it would happen eventually." Zevran grinned broadly and shrugged his shoulders. "Though while I am flattered my handsome Caballero, I believe our beautiful Warden may have something to say were I to even entertain such notions…appealing as they may be."

"Now hang on a minute!" Alistair scowled and then caught the look in the Antivan's eyes. "Wait, you're mocking me aren't you?"

"Mocking you? Why would I do such a thing?" Zevran laughed and shook his head. "Alright maybe a little, but there is something on your mind isn't there?"

Alistair's eyes drifted involuntarily to Bronwen's back and he frowned slightly.

"Ahhh…now I see." There was just the faintest hint of irritation in the elf's tone. "So what is it exactly that is bothering you so?"

"I just wanted to ask you something." Alistair answered sharply, his voice hard and tension bunching in his shoulders as he watched Bronwen striding ahead. "Just what are your intentions with her?"

"You speak of her as if she is not present." Zevran's eyebrows raised a fraction and he nodded toward the beautiful mage. "She is just right over there, you know."

Alistair reached out and seized the other man's arm pulling him to an abrupt halt.

"Don't dodge the question." He stated flatly, his brows furrowing as he spoke. "I'm serious."

"Mmm…do I detect a bit of jealousy there?" The Antivan answered smoothly, the mirth disappearing from his eyes as he looked him up and down. "Feeling territorial, are we?"

"I'm just asking what your intentions are." Alistair snapped, annoyed by the elf's blasé indifference. "You did try to kill us all, remember?"

"And now I owe her a blood debt as she has spared my life." He followed Alistair's gaze to the curvaceous figure ahead and smiled. "It has brought us...shall we say, closer together."

There was something unpleasant in the way he said it. Something that made Alistair's blood begin to boil and he fought hard not to punch the elf in his finely boned face.

"Is that a smirk?" He growled dangerously, fighting to keep his temper. "Are you smirking at me?"

"I assure you sir, that I am not smirking." Zevran's expression changed in an instant and for a second, Alistair saw the eyes of a cold-blooded killer staring him down. "No smirking here, no…"

"Well…just watch yourself then." Alistair suddenly felt like a fool as Zevran cocked an amused eyebrow. "Just remember I'll be keeping an eye on you."

They held each other's gaze for what seemed like an eternity before the Antivan finally turned away and began to follow Bronwen and the others back along the mountain pass.

Alistair sighed heavily.

Whatever happened next, at least he'd said what was in his heart and as for the Antivan…he wondered if he even had one.


	7. The Perfect Time

THE PERFECT TIME

Alistair sighed as he rubbed an oiled cloth over the pieces of golden armour he had reclaimed from the battlefield of Ostagar. It was broken in places, dented in others and the breastplate had been crushed almost beyond repair, but despite the damage, it still gleamed. Even in the dying, ruddy light of the sunset, the intricate patterning that covered every inch of the coloured, silverite plate cast scarlet shadows into the recesses of the masterwork carving, looking for all the world as if stained with blood.

Or maybe it was blood.

His brother's blood.

The blood of King Cailan Theirin.

Swallowing down the emotion that had balled into a painful lump in his throat, Alistair lifted his head and looked around what had been the encampment of the King's army. When he had first arrived with Duncan all that time ago, the place had been bustling with soldiers, mages and Grey Wardens all preparing for the upcoming battle against the darkspawn. Ash warriors were painting their faithful mabari warhounds with kaddis, knights assembled in the main courtyard to receive the blessings of the Maker from the army Cleric, and nursing staff busied themselves readying beds and medical supplies to treat the sick and injured. Dogs barked, sergeants shouted and the rank-and-file engaged in boisterous conversation and displays of bravado to dispel their nerves, even laughing and joking about the looming conflict. Above all that din, the clamour of hammer upon anvil had rang out loudly as the camp blacksmiths worked on the blades and armour of the soldiers gathered all around them, determined their efforts should see the men back safely. Yes, back then there had been so much activity, so much life…

But now all that remained were the burned and blackened ruins of what had once been.

A heavy snowfall covered most of the wreckage, even trying its best to obscure the filthy totems that had been erected by the darkspawn after their undeserved victory. Actually, almost everything was shrouded in a blanket of white, as if the Maker himself was trying to shield the rest of Thedas from seeing the horrors that had occurred here. Even then, it was hard not to contemplate the devastation, especially when it was all so fresh in his mind.

Only a couple of days ago, along with Bronwen, Sten and Wynne, he had volunteered to return to Ostagar in order to retrieve the personal effects of the King, while the rest of the party pressed on to Redcliffe to take the Sacred Ashes to Arl. The journey itself had not been too hard despite the worsening weather, but when they'd arrived, they had encountered the remnants of the darkspawn horde and a fierce fight had ensued. The darkspawn, their confidence bolstered by their previous victory, had challenged them not only with sword and shield, but also with some form of sick, corrupted magic that raised the dead from the grave. Villains once slain had again taken to the battlefield, including a massive ogre that had been felled by the twin blades of an unknown hero. But whereas the darkspawn fought with black magic and hate-fuelled spite, Alistair and his companions fought back with not only righteous anger, but also a determination to avenge all the good men and women who had lost their lives at Ostagar. Though they were few in number, they had fought right up to the point of exhaustion and eventually they had triumphed. After that, once the last darkspawn genlock had fallen, it became a time to reflect and to see to the needs of the honoured dead.

High on a darkspawn totem, impaled by the blackened spears of his enemies, hung the pale body of King Cailan Theirin. Just seeing him there, left to rot in the open like so much carrion, Alistair had felt the death more keenly than he could ever have imagined. Behind him, he could sense the sorrow and outrage of his companions, and not a word was spoken as both Bronwen and Wynne immediately began to gather together wood for a pyre.

As Alistair moved forward to reclaim the body, he realised to his surprise that Sten had remained at his side. With all the reverence of a holy priest, the stoic Qunari had willingly helped to remove the spears, and gathered the dead King into his arms before laying him out on the cold stone beneath. He had then brought water and bandages found in the looted hospital camp and handed them to Alistair, and with a nod that expressed far more than he could ever have said, Sten left him alone to cleanse the body and bind it in preparation for the cremation to follow.

Eventually the young King's body was ready and placed upon a pyre built in the ruins of his last stand. As Alistair lit the kindling beneath the wooden structure, Bronwen had come to his side and clasped his hand as Sten read aloud from the small prayer book he carried with him. Though the words were spoken in another tongue, their meaning was quite clear and when he caught Wynne's tearful eye, she simply smiled sadly and added her own prayer to the Maker, to ask him to prepare for the arrival of a true King of Ferelden.

He could only hope that should he fall in battle against the darkspawn, someone would care enough to do the same for him…

"Are you alright, Alistair?"

He was momentarily startled to see the Senior Enchanter herself looking down at him with motherly concern as she leaned against her staff.

"I'm fine." He replied quickly, covering the golden armour with a cloth and stowing it inside a pack they had recovered from the battlefield. Then he stopped, sighed ruefully and shook his head. "No, actually I'm not. It's just…well, I knew they were all dead, the King, Duncan and the rest of them, but being here…seeing it like this…"

Wynne nodded. "I know how you feel. What happened here was nothing less than a tragedy, and as for what they did to Cailan..."

"I guess it shouldn't hurt so much." He murmured, closing his eyes and trying to think of Cailan as a vibrant, young monarch and not the pallid corpse they had only so recently burned. "It wasn't like I knew him at all, although I suppose he was my King."

"He was much more than that." Wynne said softly, resting her arm on his shoulder. "Whatever circumstances separated you, whatever your stations in life, you still have right to grieve not only as a loyal subject, but as a brother. You have already lost so much since this conflict began. Duncan, Cailan, both were family to you, yet in very different ways, and such things are not easy to face, nor easy to forget. Your love for them is a testament to the man you are and the ideals you uphold, so do not think you have to ignore these feelings.

However, I can tell you that one day, when enough time has passed, the hurt will be less and the bitter memory of their passing will lose its sting. Take heart, Alistair. It will get easier, I promise."

Overcome with emotion, Alistair finally allowed himself to weep while the elderly Enchanter comforted him like a mother. Her calming presence and gentle words had soothed his heart, even as he thought of all that had transpired and all that had been lost.

"Time is like a river." She said, tears brimming in her own bright, blue eyes. "A river that flows steadily onwards no matter what happens, and sometimes people are lost in the current and swept away before their time. With everything going on around us, it could happen to anyone at any point, and so all we can do is to make the most of the time we have left, and to make sure we appreciate those we love."

At that, something deep inside his heart began to ache anew, and he found himself thinking of Bronwen.

It was here in Ostagar that they had met when Duncan introduced her as a new potential Warden recruit. It was here that he'd watched her swallow the tainted blood, hoping that she would survive the joining to become a full-fledged Grey Warden. It was here they had taken a stand together, facing their enemies in the Tower of Ishal as the army outside fell to both the darkspawn and the treachery of Teryn Loghain. It was here that he first realised that Bronwen was not just a talented ranger, but also a beautiful, brave woman with skin as pale as mare's milk, eyes like greyest agate and hair as black as night's embrace.

It was here that he had started to fall deeply, hopelessly in love with her…

"I think we should make camp." He said suddenly, reaching a decision that had been in his thoughts for some time. "I don't sense any darkspawn and it's getting too late to travel. The roads between here and Redcliffe will be too dangerous to risk in the dark, and there are more than enough places to shelter here among the ruins. We should be safe enough for tonight."

"I see." There was a curious look in Wynne's eyes.

"I'll set up the two smaller tents over there, and I can put up another by wall opposite. I'll take first duties of course, and then Bronwen can follow me. After that, Sten can oversee the rest of the night, with yourself taking the early morning watch…if that's alright with you."

"Yes, of course." She looked as if she was smiling. "You know, Bronwen and Sten should be back from combing the battlefield soon, and I imagine that she will be quite happy to know you've sorted out the sleeping arrangements."

Okay…she was definitely smiling.

"Right…er, well…that's settled then." Alistair felt his cheeks burning as the Enchanter gave him a funny look. "You keep watch for the others and I'll just be over there putting things up. Erecting them…the tents, I mean."

Wynne was positively chuckling now.

"Look, I don't know what's so amusing, but can you just let me know when Bronwen is back? I…I want to talk to her about something"

"Oh most definitely!" She pretended to look innocent. "And I assume you'll need some privacy for this…conversation?"

"What?" This time he flushed deep red. "Why…I mean no, yes…wait a second. Wynne, are you laughing at me?"

"Me? Perish the thought, lad!"

"You are, aren't you? You're laughing!"

"Ah, young love. No wonder she's so taken with you. You're adorable when you blush."

With a smile that could only be described as rather 'Oghren-like' in an all too knowing way, Wynne turned aside and began gathering wood for a camp-fire as Alistair began to unpack the tents.

He could only hope that the blushing would stop by the time Bronwen returned.

* * *

Though the evening's meal had only been a meagre stew, Wynne had added some fragrant, dried herbs that replenished their strength and left everyone feeling contented and satisfied. After that, both Wynne and Sten had retired early, the mage saying that she needed to rest after everything that had happened, and Sten disappearing into his tent to meditate upon the Qun before his midnight vigil. Alistair was already preparing for first watch, patrolling the outskirts of the campsite and making sure that the outer perimeter was secure.

Good.

That gave her the chance to work out how she was going to tell him what she had found on the battlefield.

Carefully unwrapping the blades from the tattered cloak she had carried them in, Bronwen sighed as she looked upon longsword and matching dagger that had once belonged to the Grey Warden-Commander of Ferelden.

To Duncan…

At first glance, the weapons themselves appeared plain and unadorned, yet both were undoubtedly finely crafted. Looking closely at the hilt of the dagger, Bronwen could just about make out the Grey Warden motto, 'In peace, vigilance. In war, victory. In death, sacrifice.'. Duncan was a man who not only believed in the words with all his heart, but had also died with honour, defending not only his king, but the land itself from the Blight now raging across Ferelden.

The blades had been recovered from the body of the undead ogre that they had fought earlier in the day. When it was alive, the great beast must have been a giant even among its own kind, and how one man ever brought it to its knees was beyond belief! It had taken the four of them to slay the ogre for the second time, and Alistair and Sten were more than capable warriors, easily taking on foes that were much larger and fiercer than themselves. Even then, they had needed both Wynne's healing magic and Bronwen's ability to dart in quickly and inflict vicious wounds in order to bring the ugly-brute down.

Hopefully this time, it would never get up again.

After that, once all the following skirmishes had been won and the rest of the darkspawn were dead, Bronwen had been drawn back to the battlefield. Something about the ogre had called to her, and it was only when she pulled the blades free of the creature's chest that she realised exactly what it was that she now cradled on her lap.

"Alistair." She called softly, seeing him approaching from the east. "Alistair, please come here. I need to talk to you."

"Bronwen, yes. There's…um, something I need to talk to you about too." He looked a little apprehensive, and his face seemed flushed.

"Alistair, what's wrong?" Suddenly concerned for the handsome templar, she quickly rewrapped the blades and set them down as she reached out to touch his forehead. "Maker…you're burning up. Is it the taint? Are you ill?"

"Taint…ill? No, nothing like that!" Frustration creased his brows and he slipped off one of his gauntlets to grasp her hand in his. "I'm fine, really. Just feeling a little nervous, and anxious I suppose. See, there's something that I want to ah, to ask…oh damn it!"

Bronwen watched in puzzlement as Alistair stepped back, took several deep, soothing breaths and then once again took hold of her hand.

"Okay, I guess I really don't know how to ask you this." He avoided her questioning gaze, choosing instead to watch his fingers as they interlaced with hers. "You'd think it would be easier, but every time I'm around you, I feel as if my head is about to explode and I…I can't think straight!"

His voice had risen sharply, and he took another calming breath before finally lifting his head looking deeply into her eyes.

"Here's the thing." He said softly, his eyes smoldering like melted bronze. "Being near you makes me crazy, but I can't imagine being without you, not ever. I don't know how to say this any other way, so here goes….I want you to spend the night with me, here in the camp."

He gestured toward the larger tent near the wall and then smiled shyly.

"Maybe this is too fast, I don't know…but I do know how I feel. I wanted to wait for the perfect time, the perfect place but when will it be perfect? Let's be honest, if things were, we wouldn't even have met. We sort of stumbled into each-other, and despite this being the _least_ perfect time, I still found myself falling for you, in between all the fighting and everything else." He drew in closer and placed his fingertips beneath her chin. "I know what I said before, but I really don't want to wait any longer."

The soft kiss he placed on her trembling lips was as laden with desire as it was with love, and Bronwen fell easily into his welcoming arms.

"You know I've…I've never done this before." He whispered, tenderly caressing her face. "But I want it to be with you, while we have the chance. Just in case…"

"In case what?" Bronwen asked, though in her heart she knew the reason. "Do you think we'll fall in battle, just like Cailan and Duncan? Alistair, I'm with you all the way, and there will be other times…"

"Will there?" He interrupted, not unkindly. "You don't know that, I don't know that. Just for once, I'd like to say that I threw caution to the wind and gave myself to the most beautiful woman in the world, for no other reason than to show her how much I love her. So, Bronwen Cousland, will you come to me after your watch, and spend the night with me?"

She couldn't speak. Emotion clawed at her throat and her whole body ached for want of him. All she could do was nod, and then kiss him so passionately that tears sprang to her eyes.

Tonight, Alistair was committing himself fully to her.

Tonight, she would be able to show him how she truly felt…

* * *

For the past couple of hours, all that had been running through Alistair's mind was what was going to happen next. He hadn't been able to sleep. He hadn't been able to eat. He hadn't been able to do anything other than lay here with the lantern burning low waiting for Bronwen to finish her watch.

In fact, he was so nervous that he'd almost been unable to remove his armour!

His fingers had been trembling so much, that it had taken twice as long to unfasten each and every clasp, and as for trying to unfasten the pesky laces of his britches…well, thanks be to Andraste that he kept spares. Trying to fend off darkspawn with your trousers round your ankles because you snapped the laces was not the ideal way to fight!

After that minor setback, he'd spent at least another half hour, trying to arrange the bedrolls and furs so that they would be comfortable during…during…well, whatever came next…ahem.

Thing was, Bronwen had already been in here earlier resting before watch, and her smell lingered on the woollen blankets in a way that only made it difficult to think of anything _other_ than her softly curving body, and how she would feel when she was lying beneath him.

Alistair let out an anxious groan as his manhood throbbed with arousal causing it to harden. He glanced down and thought he looked vaguely ridiculous with it sticking out of his smalls, so he slipped beneath the covers and removed them, freeing himself from the restrictive cotton undergarments. Breathing steadily, he willed the keen organ to be calm, and hoped that he could utilise both the fabled Templar control and Grey Warden stamina so that things were not over with Bronwen before they even got started…so to speak.

Maker's breath…was it meant to be this difficult?

A sudden rush of cool air flooded the tent as the flap was pulled back, and Alistair's breath caught in his throat as Lady Cousland herself stepped inside. When she saw him lying upon the bedrolls with only a blanket to cover his nakedness, she smiled shyly, set down a cloth bundle and then slowly began to unbuckle the baldric that housed her twin blades.

Alistair swallowed hard.

It was happening. It was _really_ happening.

She couldn't have known it, but in the soft glow of the lantern, Bronwen looked absolutely beautiful. The golden light seemed to bring out the warmer tones in her smooth, pale skin and long, dark hair, and the shadows cast by the flickering candle inside highlighted every hidden curve of her shapely body as she first shrugged out of her boots and armour, followed by the softer, hide layers beneath. As her hands reached behind to unclasp the fastening that held her chest bindings in place, Alistair felt his mouth starting to go dry, and when it fell to the ground he momentarily dropped his eyes as she quickly covered her ample breasts with her arms, shielding them from his view.

"Bronwen…" He murmured, not sure if he was asking her permission or begging her to reveal what lay beneath, but at the sound of her name, she slowly lowered her arms, sensuously drawing her hands down over her body. Almost hypnotically, his eyes were drawn to follow the path led by her nimble fingers as she next touched upon the band holding up her smalls. It was an exquisite torture watching her as she first untied one side, then the other, and held them in place just long enough for him to wonder if she truly intended to remove them.

Then they too were dropped to the floor.

Whether it was simple modesty, or his ingrained sense of decency, Alistair found it difficult to look directly at her nakedness, but when she softly called to him, he lifted his longing gaze to meet hers and smiled as she coyly lowered her sooty lashes, and trailed her hand down over her bared breasts.

Now he couldn't help but stare.

Free of the bindings, her breasts were larger than he first thought and softly rounded, gently heaving with each and every breath she took. He found himself longing to touch them, to feel them pressing against his chest and to take each pert, rosy nipple into his mouth and feel their hardness against his tongue. Her slender waist and flat stomach were an erotic counterpoise against her wider, rounded hips and between her legs, at the top of her glistening thighs was the dark triangle of curling hair that covered her most intimate area.

"Maker's breath, but you're beautiful." He murmured, feeling the blood pounding in his veins. "I am a lucky man."

"May I?" She asked, moistening her lips with her tongue and gesturing beside him.

Alistair didn't trust himself to speak at that moment, so he simply nodded. Modesty all but forgotten, he pulled back the covers and felt a thrill of pride and excitement as Bronwen now unashamedly stared at his own nakedness, and at the jutting member that stood erect from the bristly hair covering his nethers.

"Alistair…" She breathed as she lowered herself to the ground and lay beside him. "Alistair, I want you."

"And I you…" He replied as he cupped a soft, pliant breast in his calloused hand and hesitantly took the tender flesh into his mouth.

Feeling more confident with each passing moment, he groaned loudly as his tongue delighted in the textures of her firm, pert nipple, and Bronwen herself let out a wanton moan as she arched her back and pressed herself against him. Encouraged by her reactions, he then suckled upon her, teasing at the dusky nipple with his teeth as the dull ache in his loins became more and more insistent even more intense. As if that wasn't enough to make him harder than he'd ever been, the sensation of her warm, bare flesh held so closely against his own was also a wonder in itself, and as she wrapped her leg about his waist, he could feel the slippery wetness of her core against his hip. Indeed, she was so slick with delicious arousal that it flowed out from within and coated her inner thighs, and he gasped nervously as he realised that she was as ready for him, as he was for her.

Hungry for both her body and her kisses, Alistair positioned himself above her and sought the reassuring comfort of her lips. As their tongues entwined, it became as if they were sharing a single breath, their very lives entwining as their mouths, limbs and hearts became one. Bronwen's arms reached across his shoulders, and her legs tangled with his own as she gently shifted beneath him, enticingly tilting her pelvis and preparing herself for his entry.

Then he felt something upon his tip…

The hot, wet heat of her open sex.

Pulling back slightly, he found himself looking deeply in Bronwen's heavy-lidded agate eyes and paused. So often he had dreamed of this moment, so often had he wanted to show her how he felt in ways that words that could never fully express, and now here he was, with his manhood poised at her entrance and a look in her eyes that was as loving and tender as it was lustful and desirous.

"I love you…" He whispered, stroking her hair and placing tender kisses upon her lips. "I just wanted to be sure that you know that before I…before we…"

"And I love you." She said so quietly that at first he doubted he had heard it. "I love you Alistair Theirin. I love you so much…"

Their next kisses were fierce and insistent, the lines between love and lust blurring into one perfect sensation as he angled his hips and began to push between her slippery folds towards her core. Instinct and need drove him onwards, and he gasped as the tip of his organ breached the taught circle of muscle at her entrance, followed quickly by the rest of his thickened shaft. Nothing he had ever imagined could have prepared him for the way it felt as his member was encased in the slick, hot flesh of her sex. It enveloped and surrounded him in ways that caused surges of pure pleasure to run up and down his spine, and he groaned loudly as he plunged further into her. Writhing beneath him, Bronwen let out a passionate cry as she shifted again, allowing him to penetrate her even more deeply until he felt his aching balls resting snugly against her buttocks.

He was inside her up to his hilt…it felt magnificent.

The ache became a surge to his root as the pleasure became almost too intense to bear, and if not for a sheer act of will alone, he would have spilled into her there and then. Fortunately, those long, early years spent training as a templar involved no end of techniques in discipline and control, and mercifully he was able to hold back. Panting heavily, he slowly withdrew his shaft, leaving only the tip in place at her entrance before moving forward once again. This time, his entry was smooth and sure, and Bronwen moaned aloud as he plundered her depths and filled her with his solid thickness. At the next stroke, he thrust into her with even more certainty, feeling her inner walls responding to his presence with a pulsing tension that stimulated him to even greater arousal.

And Maker help him, but he knew he couldn't last much longer…

"Yes…" Bronwen breathed, reaching down to grab his hips and helping to set a rhythm that had them both straining with need. "Yes…like this…oh…Maker…"

She was actively bucking against him now, sliding herself along his shaft as he entered her, and making noises that he'd heard before when she was nearing her peak. Encouraged by her pleasure, he began to thrust into her with abandon, using both his physical strength and his sheer length to fill her so completely that she called his name to the heavens! A small part of him was aware that they'd probably be able to hear her in Redcliffe, so he crashed his lips against hers and smothered her increasingly loud cries with his desperate kisses.

He felt liberated, free, almost like a wild beast as he took her, and Bronwen must have felt the same as she raked her short, sharp nails across his back as she ground herself against him. Increasingly he could feel that he was losing control, his focus slipping as that familiar surge once more began to build in intensity deep within his root, and then…

Then…

Everything else was forgotten as Alistair's climax reached its peak and thick, milky fluid burst forth from his needful member into Bronwen's molten core. Closing his eyes as blissful, sexual ecstasy flooded his system, he was dimly aware that her inner walls were contracting strongly about his organ, and that she too was crying aloud as her own orgasm sent shockwaves of pleasure rippling through her body.

By Andraste's blessed tears, they were together in a moment like no other he had known before, and it felt…

…it felt…

…it felt perfect.

* * *

Alistair had woken to find himself erect again, only this time it was because he needed to pee. After wrapping a blanket around his waist, he had nipped outside into the cold, emptied his bladder and then returned to slip back into bed with the woman he loved more than anything in this world. Truth be told, he wasn't exactly sure how long they had slept, only that it was close to dawn, but as gazing down into Bronwen's contentedly sleeping face, he knew that he really should wake her so they could prepare for the journey back to Redcliffe.

It seemed such a shame to do it though, as she looked so beautiful. Besides, he'd never actually woken up beside a woman before, and he wasn't entirely sure about the protocols, but he guessed that kissing her would be a great way to start the day. It would certainly make him happy anyway.

An hour or so later, he made a mental note that in Bronwen's case, kissing seemed to lead to touching, which in turn led to more kissing and then to…well, let's just say a certain part of his anatomy was feeling rather tender, and he was more than a little drained.

In the best possible way of course…

"Hey you." Bronwen sighed, stretching languidly as she tenderly caressed his cheek. "What are you thinking?"

Looking down fondly at her and sub-consciously stroking her thigh, Alistair raised an amused eyebrow. "Hmm…you know, according to all the sisters at the monastery, I should have been struck by lightning by now?"

"Really?" She said in mock seriousness. "Well, it's not morning yet and there's still time you know?"

"Sure." Alistair replied with a smile. "But if you get hit by the lightning afterwards, it hardly seems like an effective deterrent."

"And it would also be such a terrible waste…" Her lips were warm against his throat as she started nibbling the sensitive skin there, and her naughty fingers were teasing at the soft chest hair surrounding his nipples.

"You do realize," he began, trying not to think about the effect she was having on him. "The rest of our little party here is going to talk, right? They do that…."

Maker's breath, it was getting harder to think…

"Let them talk." She murmured, her teeth now teasing at his earlobe as she slipped her hand down past his stomach and into the coarse hair above his privates. "If anyone has anything to say, I'll just feed them to Shadow."

She made a growling noise in the back of her throat as her hand clasped around his tired member, which to his surprise was stiffening once more…

"See?" He gasped, his own hand snaking between her legs into the wetness that lay at the apex of her thighs. "This is why I love you. Proud…fearless…" His fingers slipped easily inside and she moaned loudly. "And quite possibly, utterly insatiable…"

Bronwen chuckled as she flicked her eyes toward his groin. "Look who's talking…"

He didn't really need to look to know that he was hard, again. He wasn't _that_ inexperienced…

"Well then, we'd better do something about that, hadn't we?" He kissed her passionately and lifted her thigh over his shoulder.

"Alistair, are you sure you're up to this?"

"Grey Warden, remember? Our stamina is legendary. Now, just what was it you were saying about there still being time…?"


End file.
